


Corvi et Picae

by CaketinTheHobo



Series: Birds of a Feather [1]
Category: Dishonored (Video Game), Thief (Video Games)
Genre: Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-13
Updated: 2016-06-17
Packaged: 2018-02-04 13:40:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 132,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1781104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaketinTheHobo/pseuds/CaketinTheHobo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In front of him stood a man.  He was dressed in dark leather, fingerless gloves, with a hood and a cloak. Most of his features were masked, but Corvo did see a scar cutting across his right side of his face, and interestingly, his eyes were of a different colour. He ran holding onto a bow, slowly reaching behind him to pull an arrow out of a quiver and fire at an unseen assailant.<br/>“He is called Garrett,” the Outsider spoke. “He is here to set an issue right in which nobody in this world can. He will need your help, and you will need his.”<br/>“Why is he important to you?”.<br/>“He is important to everyone, to everything,” was the enigmatic reply.</p><p>Crossover in which Garrett is pulled into the chaos of Dunwall, and given a task to stop both his and Corvo's worlds falling to powers beyond control.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is my first fic on AO3, and I hope you all enjoy it!  
> My thanks must go to my fellow Taffers, all of whom are too numerous to mention, but know who they are. My thanks also go to Sofie (tumblr user dunwall) for getting a supremely long list of headcanons a while back, and thanks also go to the members of another skype conversation between the old crowd, none of whom have ever played either game. Alas.
> 
> This fic is as of now unofficially un-beta'd. This may change.
> 
> As I've said in the summary, this fic is a crossover between Thief and Dishonored, in which Garrett is essentially involved in the events of the game. I'm going to try and make this as accurate to the game as possible, but there will be certain revisions of parts due to the nature of the crossover. It'll make sense, I hope.
> 
> Edit; embarrassingly, I've had the title of this fic spelt wrong for a good while now. It's fixed.

_“Attention, Citizens of Dunwall. The Old Port District has been added to the evacuation list. The Weeper count for the Month of Seeds has increased. The Lord Regent has decreed that plague ordinances will remain in effect through the Month of Rain. Stay alert, and stay loyal.”_

Corvo paused, briefly, to listen to the announcement as it came over the loudspeaker. He’d met the man tasked with announcing news to the city a few times around Dunwall Tower; Malleus was his name. He’d found that he’d missed the regular (if now somewhat desolate) announcements made via the loudspeaker system during his time in Coldridge Prison. They were part of Dunwall, they were constant, dependable, a sign that all was well, albeit on the surface. Corvo, of course, knew better. Nothing was well. His world had been reduced to a space barely bigger than six square feet for six months, and he’d watched the city rot from inside a prison cell. He’d seen it in the guards faces every time they went past his cell – the dirty looks they had thrown in his direction had gotten dirtier by the day. His food had become of lower and lower standard, the torture had gotten worse. They had blamed _him_ for the deterioration. They’d not known any better. Burrows had set him up perfectly, the returned Royal Protector turned murderer. He must have improvised, too, what with Corvo’s early return from the rest of the Isles.

 If Corvo wasn’t so busy hating the man for what he’d had to endure, he’d almost admire his ingenuity.

But still, there wasn’t any use dwelling on what had happened, the fact was it _had happened._ Ruminating on the whys and what-ifs wasn’t going to change the fact. It also wasn’t going to help him bypass the Wall of Light that was blocking his access to Clavering Boulevard. Samuel had warned him of the devices, able to disintegrate a man to dust and nothing else. It had been a long time since Corvo had even seen one in use, but then again it had been a long time since Corvo had been to a place such as this one. He’d been travelling for the better part of a year for the Empress, and the places he’d seen on the Isles were too well-secured, or simply too poor, for Walls of Light. He remembered them as a child on Serkonos, watching guards wire them from the window of his room as a boy. They were a contradiction, the Walls of Light; their name defied the perils they held. A simple step and you were no more. Just dust, floating in the same light you’d stepped into. But Corvo had seen there was no light at the end. There was simply _end._ And beginning. Everything and nothing. There was a duality, a sense that everything was equal and yet everything was _not_ equal. It simply was. You were a vast object, but so was an ant. Scales of vastness were one and the same.

Corvo had looked into the eyes of the Outsider and seen eternity staring back. But he had also seen _nothing._

He shook his head for a moment, clearing his thoughts. Samuel had warned him about the area around Clavering Boulevard; what wasn’t patrolled by the Watch was instead crawling with gangs, most notably the Bottle Street Gang. He’d also mentioned someone named ‘Granny Rags’, and something in Samuel’s tone had suggested to Corvo that Granny Rags was probably the most dangerous one of them all.

Corvo was in no mood to trifle with Watch Guards, however, so he turned from the Wall of Light and headed into the darker parts of the Distillery District.

The smell got worse as he went deeper, the tang of brine mixed with the stench of the distillery itself. But he continued, heading deeper into the slums of the district.

_This is what the Wall of Light is in place for,_ he thought. _Not the criminals or the assassins, but for the poor. The rich of Clavering Boulevard don’t want to look upon the dying._

A clatter above his head drew his attention; an old woman throwing out rubbish and muttering to herself. Corvo didn’t get much of a glimpse of her but there was _something_ that unsettled him. He could hear her muttering continue as she went back into the building.

The building drew his attention. He peered at it for a moment, before resolving to climb to the balcony, if not to investigate, then simply for a better view and to lessen the likelihood of being spotted by an errant guard. A dull thud rang in his ears, almost imperceptible, but enough for Corvo to notice. The Heart was beating. The Heart, whispering to him with the voice of the dead Empress, revealed the runes that were dedicated to the Outsider.

He paused on the balcony, wondering whether to venture into the apartment or continue on his way past the distillery. He was unsure as to whether the woman – most likely this Granny Rags – was a threat or not. In the end he resolved to go inside, the rewards outweighed the risks of his small detour. Campbell wasn’t going anywhere tonight anyway; the sun had only just gone down and Corvo had hours to get to Holger Square. The Overseer compound itself was fairly easy to navigate, he’d been there a few times with the Empress and remembered its layout reasonably well, or at least well enough to get in and out.

The Heart thrummed louder in his ear, informing him the rune was nearby, and he ghosted past Granny Rags, giving her a cursory glance as she sorted through what he assumed were her possessions. From what he caught of her monologue, she was annoyed at some ‘gentleman callers’ disturbing her pet birds or something similar. He could also tell she was blind; he was under no illusion that she hadn’t heard him as he made his way past. He opened a door, quietly, and found himself looking upon a shrine built the Outsider. The only time he’d ever seen one of these before had been in the Void, the place which was eternal and instant at the same time. He wondered if the Outsider found the Void lonely, if that was why he reached out to people and looked upon the world. He wondered if these shrines amused him, as much else seemed to.

The rune was sitting in centre place; the Heart’s pounding grew louder as he reached for it, and for a moment he stopped, deliberating on whether to pick it up. He did so, the weight of the rune surprising him for a moment, before the mark on its side glowed.

“Be careful, Corvo.”

The Outsider was _here,_ hovering in the space above the shrine, surrounded by a black swirling mist. He gazed down upon the man, his black-eyed features inscrutable as ever.

“They call her Granny Rags,” the Outsider continued, confirming Corvo’s earlier suspicion. “You wouldn’t recognise her real name, or even the name of her family, but an Emperor begged for her hand once, and rich young men fought each other for her favour. I watched her consider them all, measure their worth, and find them wanting. Then she made a different choice.”

The Outsider paused for a moment, almost as if he were choosing his next words with care.

“You’re on your way to face the High Overseer, the leader of a great cult dedicated to loathing me. More than me,” he said, “they loathe what they fear, and while they may not fear _me_ they loathe what was brought here through me.”

Corvo raised an eyebrow as the Outsider unfolded his arms, raising his right hand.

“I have a task for you,” he said. “Normally I would not be so brash, but time is of the essence, for you and for the man I brought to this world.”

He waved his hand, and the room around Corvo flickered, changing. Corvo recognised the vast emptiness and stillness of the Void, yet it was all in image. He could still feel himself standing on the floor, partially rubble, and he could still hear Granny Rags moving above him.

In front of him stood a man. Or, more accurately, the man was running in front of him, but he was slowed, moving slowly enough for Corvo to gauge his appearance. He was dressed in dark leather, fingerless gloves, with a hood and a cloak. Most of his features were masked, but Corvo did see a scar cutting across his right side of his face, and interestingly, his eyes were of a different colour. He ran holding onto a bow, slowly reaching behind him to pull an arrow out of a quiver and fire at an unseen assailant.

“He is called Garrett, and he was born a long way from this realm,” the Outsider spoke. “He is here to set an issue right in which nobody in this world can. He will need your help, and you will need his. But in drawing him to this world, I miscalculated, and he now resides in the dungeons of the Overseers. Loathe me as they do, they know enough that I cannot see him, and I cannot draw him back into the Void. I must, instead, ask you to retrieve him for me.”

Corvo stepped closer to the moving image of Garrett – for that was all it was, an image – and watched the man’s movements. He was agile, thin but well built, and clearly fast.

“Why is he important to you?” Corvo asked, speaking for the first time.

“He is important to everyone, to _everything,”_ was the enigmatic reply. “I shall explain to you both the nature of the situation you are placed in once you are safe and I can draw you to the Void. For now-“ the Outsider broke off, and the image of the Void, and the man named Garrett, faded – “you must continue with the task you were given. Deal with Campbell as you will, and then find Garrett. Convince him to trust you. He will be unwilling at first, if what I have seen of him proves true, but like you, he will find that he has a pivotal role in the days to come.”

Corvo recognised the final words; the same had been spoken to him the previous night, in the Void.

“Find Garrett, and know that I will be watching,” the Outsider dictated, before disappearing, an inky black vortex being the final thing Corvo saw.

Corvo wondered if that was the Outsider’s way of saying good luck. He didn’t seem to be the type of person to say such a thing out loud.

Garrett, whoever he was, was clearly important. Perhaps more so than Corvo, by the way the Outsider insisted on finding him. Unlike anything else given to him by the Outsider, with this man Garrett, he was removed of choice. This was something he _had_ to do.

And in all the time Corvo had been to Holger Square, not once had he seen any cells or detention area in the Overseer Compound.

He muttered a curse to himself, before turning and heading past Granny Rags and out onto the street. On top of finding and getting rid of Campbell, Havelock had also tasked him with finding an Overseer named Martin; Corvo assumed that once Campbell had been taken care of this Martin would take his place and put the Loyalists in power within the Abbey. He hoped Martin was easier to find than Garrett.

Bypassing the first Wall of Light was fairly simple; the only trouble Corvo encountered were two members of the Bottle Street Gang hassling a pedlar inside a fishmongers. He quickly dispatched the two with swift blows to the back of the head, knocking each of them out. The man had introduced himself as Griff, thanking Corvo and offering him a discount on his wares.

_He knows who you are,_ the Heart had whispered, _but he will pretend he does not._

Corvo had left Griff behind, instead traversing the rooftops to reach Holger Square. The Outsider had provided him with the gifts needed to travel unseen by the guards; he didn’t want to cause conflict with men simply doing their jobs. As such, he moved swiftly and silently skirting guard patrols and reaching Holger Square.

Almost immediately he was alerted by the sound of someone speaking – an Overseer talking to a man chained in the middle of the courtyard.

“Hello Martin,” he began, immediately causing Corvo a wave of relief in that he didn’t have to spend his entire night looking for the man, “I hear the second day is when the skin _really_ starts to come off. Is that true? Or is it the itching that really gets you? Or the rats?”

He didn’t get a chance to gloat further, as Corvo crept up behind him and rendered him unconscious, choking him and then dragging him to the shadows. He’d wake up in a few hours, when both Corvo and Martin – and Garrett, if Corvo could find him – would be long gone.

Freeing Martin was simply an action of releasing the lever that controlled the shackles that held him. He was grateful to the man for breaking him out of Coldridge, but in seeing Martin he found him to be slightly disquieting. No wonder he’d been caught, if Corvo had been in his previous office he probably would have suspected the man himself.

“Feels good to stand up straight. Thank you, Corvo,” the man said, rubbing his wrists and stretching. “What you’re here to do tonight,” he continued, “is of the highest importance. We’ve got to find Emily, so kill Campbell and make it quick. Once it’s done, search his body for the journal – his notorious black book – and get out of there.

“Campbell is meeting with a guard named Curnow, and word from my informant is that that Campbell is going to poison him. Maybe you can use that to your advantage.”

Corvo recognised the name. Callista had said something of the sort to him before he’d left the Hound Pits. Curnow was a good man; he’d travelled with Corvo across the Isles on the Empress’ orders. Corvo found it hard to believe that he was involved in any conspiracy, and the fact he was going to be poisoned reinforced the idea that Curnow was simply trying to survive the tumultuous time.

“Curnow was also the man who found the Sleeper,” Martin added, causing Corvo to frown behind his mask. “I suspect Campbell will also attempt to dispose of _him_ tonight, whoever he is.”

Martin seemed to register Corvo’s confusion, for he elaborated. “A week ago, a man appeared in this square. Fell from the sky, straight at Curnow’s feet. At least, that’s what my informant tells me Curnow says. He hasn’t woken at all; they’re keeping him in the old interrogation room until he does – Coldridge is having an issue with security, after all, and we couldn’t rule out Outsider interference. Most likely Campbell would legitimise his murder of Curnow by saying that he and the Sleeper plotted to kill him. Especially now, after your escape.”

After imparting his information, Martin bade Corvo farewell, informing him that he’d notify Samuel to move the boat to the back of the Overseer’s office. Corvo simply nodded, mind turning over the information Martin had given him. This Sleeper was clearly an anomaly, so much so that Corvo was in little doubt that this was who the Outsider had sent him to find.

Now there was simply the matter of getting Garrett and getting him out, something which would be difficult if the man had not woken up for a week. He figured he would deal with Campbell first, now that he knew Curnow was in imminent danger, and he didn’t want to loiter at the entrance to the compound.

Crossing over the gate was a simple task, and soon he was crouched on a ledge on the side of the High Overseer’s office, watching the guards patrol below. They were speaking of something called the ‘Heretic’s Brand’, and as far as Corvo could tell, it was a way to expel an Overseer of _any_ rank from his office, and even from the city itself. Creeping across the ledge, Corvo considered using this method to get rid of Campbell.

Corvo could kill a man if needed, but he also saw that there were other means of disposing of enemies. The Empress had been a champion of justice and compassion. Corvo was acting in _her_ honour; it made sense to acknowledge her commitment. Could he allow himself the grim satisfaction of seeing a man cast out, like he was?

He decided he could as he reached a window that was open, putting him in a corridor in the High Overseer’s office.

He ducked into the nearest room, avoiding the two guards talking at the end of the corridor, and found that, by luck, he was exactly where he needed to be. The Interrogation Room was split into three sections – a cage in the middle, with a chair; a viewing area with doors connecting to the outer corridor; and a raised platform. Corvo spotted the brand in question lying on a desk on the platform. So it was real, he mused, quickly skimming over a book that lay on the desk next to it.

He also saw that, considering the Office of the High Overseer did not have its own cell block, that the Sleeper had been strapped to the chair in the middle of the room.

For most of the evening a small part of him hadn’t believed the Outsider’s words, saying that he would find a man named Garrett in the middle of the Overseer compound. He’d been even less inclined to believe Martin’s tale about the Sleeper. Yet, here he was, exactly as stated.

_He was looking for Erin,_ the Heart whispered, briefly startling him. _For six months he has searched. He thought he had found her when the Outsider brought him through the Void._

Corvo knew that he needed to get Garrett out, but he also needed to deal with Campbell and Curnow. He would have to come back to this room anyway to administer the brand, so he resolved to leave the man here for now, in case any wandering guard decided to check on ‘the Sleeper’.

He quickly traversed through the corridors, using the series of pipes and lights hanging from the ceiling, as well as the gifts the Outsider gave to him. He soon came upon the Meeting Chamber, whereupon he spotted a bottle of wine (a fine Tyvian red, to be exact), and a tray with two already filled glasses. Presumably, one was poisoned.

He didn’t have much time – he could hear Campbell and Curnow approaching the room now, talking about Callista. It appeared that in order to work with Havelock and Pendleton, she’d had to disappear. Pressed for time, Corvo simply spilled the wine, ensuring that Curnow was safe, at least from this method of assassination.

He barely had enough time to hide before Campbell and Curnow were at the door, but he managed it, blinking to the shadows in the top corner of the room. It surprised him how little people looked up; he’d discovered as much this night alone. Corvo resolved that if he ever got back to some position of respect he would instruct the guards to check ceilings more often.

Piero had supplied him with sleep darts; he quickly used them on both Curnow and Campbell. He couldn’t risk Curnow alerting the entire Watch that he was here to deal with Campbell, and he simply didn’t have the time to explain to the man his purpose, and what Campbell had planned to do.

The only issue he had now was _what to do_ with Curnow. He couldn’t leave him here, he would soon be found and if any of the Overseers were in on Campbell’s plan then Curnow would be killed anyway.

He quickly placed the unconscious Campbell out on the window ledge, out of sight of anybody who happened to enter the room. Piero had informed him the darts rendered complete unconsciousness, without movement, so there was little chance of Campbell falling off the ledge. If he did, it would kill him. A pity, considering the fate Corvo had in store for him.

He hoisted the unconscious Curnow over his shoulder, using the gifts the Outsider gave him to traverse to the edge of the compound. A trash bin, while not exactly the most luxurious of places, would have to be Curnow’s safe haven. He hoped the man would understand.

He was pressed for time; he quickly made his way back to Campbell, carrying the man along the outside of the building to the window opposite the door to the interrogation room, in doing so avoiding the guards patrolling the corridors. He darted into the room, closing the door behind him for good measure.

He unceremoniously dropped Campbell to the floor, moving forward to undo the restraints on the chair.

Before he had even begun to undo the strap around Garrett’s right wrist, he stopped. The brand on his left hand had started to glow. Usually it only did so when he used the powers granted to him, but here he’d only _touched_ Garrett. He guessed it was some influence of the Outsider; he wasn’t naive enough to think that the Outsider _didn’t_ have some connection to him through the brand.

More so, the connection had apparently enabled Garrett to start to wake up.

_Of course,_ Corvo thought. _At least I don’t have to carry him out._

Corvo couldn’t risk him alerting the guards to his presence, so he did the only thing he could – he drew his sword and pressed his hand over the man’s mouth, preventing him from making a noise.

Naturally, the man didn’t seem to be pleased about his situation, as he shifted in his bonds, eyes narrowing at Corvo. He _did_ keep quiet though, even as Corvo pressed the edge of his blade to the man’s throat to reaffirm his point. He lifted his hand, quickly lifting his mask to reveal his face; hopefully it would make his intentions seem more genuine.

“I do not have time to explain,” he said, quickly and quietly. “I was sent to get you out. I do not have time for your questions _or_ for you to pull anything that will jeopardise my mission. The one who brought you here cannot reach you, he will explain _later._ Trust me, Garrett,” he said, which got the man’s attention, “I do not know why you are here anymore than you do.”

He replaced his mask, and set about freeing the restraints that were still around Garrett’s wrists. The man hadn’t spoken, but he watched Corvo carefully. When he was released, he stood up, slowly, stretching his limbs and rotating his wrists. He still hadn’t said anything, but he did pay attention when Corvo lifted up Campbell’s limp form.

“No questions,” he said, forestalling any query that might be directed his way.

Garrett seemed to consider asking him anyway, but when he did finally speak, his question was much simpler.

“Where are my things?”

His voice was quiet, measured, and rasped slightly, Corvo assumed from disuse. He didn’t seem to be suffering from any other effects of his week-long rest. Corvo wasn’t even sure if the man knew he’d been in that chair for so long. For a moment he didn’t register what the man meant, until he noticed that the quiver and bow the Outsider had shown him carrying were missing. He cast a glance around the room.

“Try the cupboard,” he ventured, working on Campbell’s restraints and pocketing the black book that Havelock and Martin had urged him to get.

The creak of the cupboard door startled them both, and Garrett winced as he slowly pulled the door open. It wasn’t for nothing, however, he pulled out his bow and quiver, along with some other items that Corvo didn’t recognise, but assumed they belonged to the man. He _was_ intrigued by the device that fitted into a holster on Garrett’s right thigh – it was connected to a rope that stretched across his stomach and wound by his left hip. He noticed that Garrett didn’t seem to carry any form of lethal weapon beside his bow.

By the time Corvo had finished tying down Campbell, Garrett appeared to have found all of his equipment, for he closed the cupboard door quietly, making sure not to replicate the noise he’d made opening it.

“I think they’re going to notice he’s not me,” Garrett said, crossing to stand by the door, nodding to Campbell’s unconscious form.

Corvo smirked at the man’s attempt at wit, before reaching for the Heretic’s Brand. “Actually, you were in the way,” he said, taking hold of Campbell’s jaw and firmly pressing the brand to his face.

For his part, Garrett didn’t comment, he simply watched as Campbell was roused from unconsciousness for a second as the chemicals on the brand reacted to his skin. After a few more seconds than was entirely necessary, Corvo removed it, eyeing the three lines that now cut across Campbell’s eye.

Garrett looked as though he were about to say something further, but at that moment the door opened.

For a moment, nothing was said; the Overseer who entered simply looked between the masked Corvo looming over the unconscious Campbell, still holding the brand.

He managed to cry out for a split second before something impacted on the back of his head, knocking him out. Garrett caught the man as he fell, dragging him over to the cupboard where his weaponry had been stored and pushing his limp form inside.

“He’ll be knocked out for an hour at least,” he said, stowing the weapon he’d used – a blackjack by the look of it – back into a sling that lay above the rope on his waist.

He turned to Corvo, “I assume he wasn’t your friend?” he asked.

“No,” Corvo confirmed. “But we need to leave. We don’t know if anyone else heard him. Can you climb?” he asked.

Garrett snuffed a quiet laugh. “Climbing is part of my occupation,” he answered, pulling a scarf over his face, covering his features.

“Good, because we’re going that way,” Corvo said, pointing to the mass of pipes near the ceiling. “I assume I don’t need to tell you that stealth is key here.”

“Before we go,” Garrett said, “I want to make something clear. Just because I’m following you, it does not mean I trust you. I’m following you because I am clearly not where I was before I woke in this chair, and your friend – this person who you say will explain everything – had something to do with it. He better explain it soon, is all I’m saying.”

Corvo paused. “What do you remember?” he asked, curious.

“A headache,” Garrett answered. He didn’t elaborate, and Corvo knew they were too pressed for time for an explanation.

Corvo quickly manoeuvred up to the pipes – he wasn’t keen on showing Garrett his powers as of now, and Garrett followed.

Moving along the pipes, Corvo admired the way the man moved, it was like he’d been born with the grace of a cat. He was silent – quieter than Corvo, anyway – and each step was carefully placed. He was more experienced with such a method of travel, it seemed.

Corvo lead the way; they traversed along the pipes at the top of the room and corridor outside, before reaching the meeting chamber. Corvo didn’t fail to notice that the Overseers were on the alert – they must have noticed that Campbell and Curnow were missing. He wondered how long it would take them to find Campbell. He didn’t reckon it would be long.

“We need to get out there,” he whispered, indicating the open window. “Stay on the ledge and follow it right, all the way round the building.”

Garrett nodded, carefully watching the Overseer patrolling the room, edging along the pipes to the one nearest the window. Corvo had the impression that if Garrett wanted to, he could wait for the entire night for the right moment. As it were, he didn’t need to, the man left the room, giving them both time to drop to the floor and exit through the window.

The ledge was narrow, but not difficult to traverse – Corvo had found it harder when carrying Curnow’s unconscious form along it to the trash bin. Corvo spotted the door they needed to go through, indicating it to Garrett. There were only two Overseers here, and they were otherwise distracted, talking about some incident of the previous night; they were easily skirted. Thankfully, the door to the back yard was unlocked, and they quickly exited through it, Garrett softly closing the door behind them. He hadn’t said a word since leaving the interrogation room, although neither had Corvo, aside from the instructions he’d given in the meeting room. He supposed that the man didn’t have much to say.

He was drawn from his thoughts by raised voices in the alley near them – creeping to a near stone wall; both he and Corvo looked over to see an unmasked Overseer arguing with two of his comrades about a woman.

“Please, she’s my sister. She’s not a witch! I know her!”

Behind his mask, Corvo made a face. He’d never liked the over-zealous methods of the Overseers, and now in his newly enlightened state surrounding the Outsider, he disliked them all the more. He took another glance over the ledge – the two factions were on the verge of coming to blows.

“You want to help them,” Garrett muttered, almost resignedly. “I’ll take the one on the right,” he added, moving into position.

At a signal from Corvo, they moved together, vaulting the stone wall and landing on the two Overseers, knocking them out.

The man and his female companion both seemed shocked by the pair’s appearance, so much so that the former Overseer had even drawn his sword in alarm. Both, however, soon shared a relieved gasp as Garrett began to drag his unconscious Overseer to a nearby bin.

“You appeared as if from nowhere,” the man said. “We would both be dead if not for you.”

Corvo said nothing, but that appeared to not matter, as the woman – the former Overseer’s sister, Corvo assumed – spoke.

“We are forever in your debt, I cannot thank you enough.”

“I must get my sister to safety, but first I may know of a way to thank you,” the man added. “There’s a safe in the bunkhouse. The combination is 203. Take what you want, and good luck, both of you.”

The pair quickly left, and Corvo quickly pulled the other unconscious Overseer to the bin Garrett had chosen.

“A safe, huh?” he mused. “Wonder if it’s got anything valuable.”

“We don’t have time for detours,” Corvo told him. “As soon as they discover Campbell this place is going to be on high alert. It was hard enough getting in here on lax security, let alone getting out.”

“That’s your problem,” Garrett answered. “If we pass a bunkhouse on our way out of here, I’m taking a look, high alert or not.”

Corvo was about to respond when he remembered what the Outsider had asked of him: _“Convince him to trust you.”_

Corvo knew they were pressed for time, but he also knew they would most definitely pass a bunkhouse on their way to Samuel. He sighed, making a decision.

“Fine, but we’re moving quickly. If you can’t get to the safe without raising an alarm, we’re not opening it. Understand?” he asked, receiving a nod of acknowledgement in return. “Good.”

“Our best way would be up there,” Garrett said, pointing to the series of ventilation ducts that lay pressed against the wall above them. He reached into the holster on his hip, removing the device that had caught Corvo’s eye before.

“It’s called the Claw,” the man explained, loosening some rope into his hand. “It’s useful for getting to high places.”

He threw the device with accuracy, looping it around the bracket that held the duct to the wall, before pulling the rope taught.

“After you,” he gestured, and Corvo quickly climbed, Garrett following after him and retracting the rope behind him. The traversed along the vents quickly, crossing the courtyard where a single Overseer was patrolling.

Following the rooftops from here was fairly easy, and the pair moved with Corvo in the lead.

They halted at the bunkhouse, standing on the roof of the adjacent building and peering through the window. There were three Overseers inside, in somewhat deep discussion. After listening for a few seconds, Corvo realised what the man was asking of his friends.

“Plague,” he said quietly to Garrett. “He’s infected.”

“Seems like everywhere’s got some sort of sickness,” Garrett replied, watching carefully through the window.

Despite his dislike for the Overseers, Corvo couldn’t help but feel a pang of sympathy for the man; and his executioner.

“Over there,” Garrett whispered, pointing to the safe. “You stay here and keep watch. I’ll be two minutes at the most.”

Corvo didn’t get a chance to say otherwise, as Garrett turned and made his way into the building, silently treading along the vents and pipes. Watching him, Corvo suspected that Garrett was the sort of man who did this for a living. A professional infiltrator, a thief, perhaps an assassin, although the lack of lethal weaponry somewhat negated the third option.

If he was any of these, it begged the question, _why did the Outsider want him so much?_

By the time Corvo returned his attention to him, Garrett was already at the safe, turning the dials with speed. Creaking, the heavy door opened, and Garrett quickly emptied it.

“Hey, you there! Stop what you’re doing!”

Corvo cursed – he’d been too busy paying attention to Garrett, and not on the door, where one of the Overseers had entered on his patrol. His position also made it nigh-on impossible to reach the Overseer before he reached Garrett, so he did the only thing he knew he could – he blinked to Garrett’s side, grabbed his arm, and moved them back to the rooftop.

Corvo wasn’t sure who was more surprised, Garrett or the Overseer. At least Garrett had the inclination to not shout his surprise, unlike the Overseer.

“Later,” Corvo told him. “We’re leaving, now.”

They quickly traversed across the rooftop, before leaping over a wall and coming to a long chain that lead down to the riverside.

“Go,” Corvo said, hearing the shouts of the Overseers get louder behind the wall. Soon the place would be swarming. Garrett did as told, and they both slid down the long chain, coming to stand on the dockside.

Garrett peered up at the chain rising above them, listening to the now faraway shouts of the Overseers, as Corvo crossed the dock to where Samuel was watching them both, eyeing the unfamiliar man warily.

“Who’s your friend?” Samuel asked.

“This is Garrett,” Corvo told him. “Garrett, Samuel.”

“He the guy who brought me here?” Garrett asked.

“No,” Corvo replied. “He pilots the boat.”

 “I’m sure it’s a pleasure to meet you,” Samuel began, “but do you think the others are going to take you bringing a stranger into our fold so lightly? I’ve half a mind to shoot him now and save Havelock from doing it later.”

“That’s a bold threat,” Garrett countered. “He’d have to catch me first.”

“They’re just going to have to trust me,” Corvo told him. Garrett, for his part, laughed quietly.

“ _Another_ person who’s going to accept your word?” he asked. “You’ve given _me_ little reason to trust yours. You can keep telling me that the reason I’m here will be explained later, but if they don’t do so soon then you’re providing me with little reason to stay, let alone trust you.”

For a short while nothing was said, before Corvo broke the silence.

“The Overseers will be down here any minute; we can talk more in the boat,” he said. “Garrett, trust me, please. I _told_ you I don’t know any more than you do. I was told to get you out. Would you rather I left you there?”

He turned to Samuel. “Let’s go, before the Overseers work out how we’re going to leave.”

“All right,” Samuel said. “Garrett, if you do anything untoward, I’m pitching you overboard into the river.”

Garrett, for his part, eyed the boat with distaste. “I’m sure it won’t come to that,” he said, carefully stepping in and sitting down. For the limited amount of time that Corvo had known him, this was the first time he’d seen Garrett look anything close to nervous, and this was a man who was willing to walk into unfamiliar territory for the sake of a safe.

“You don’t like boats?” Samuel asked as Corvo took his place.

“I prefer to travel my own way,” Garrett countered. “Boats are... not my usual method.”

_He almost drowned in the river as a child,_ the Heart said. _He exists in a world where everything is controlled and precise. A boat is neither of these things._

“Well, I hate to break it to you,” Samuel told him, “but in Dunwall, the only way to travel with speed is by boat.”

“Dunwall,” Garrett repeated, as Samuel started the boat’s engine and moved them away from the dockside. “That’s the name of this city?”

Corvo nodded, removing his mask as they left the outer reaches of the Overseer’s compound.

“What about you?” Garrett asked, following Corvo’s example and pulling his scarf down. “You know my name, but you never told me yours.”

“Corvo,” he said, holding out his hand. Garrett took it, grasping his hand in a firm grip.

“Well, Corvo, I hope your friend can explain what’s going on better than you can, otherwise I’m going to _really_ start to wonder what mess I’ve gotten into now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's more to come, I promise!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’re a thief,” Samuel said, clearly not impressed.  
> “I am?” Garrett asked, a feigned surprise in his tone. “Someone should alert the Watch.”  
> -  
> “You are only a thief after all.”  
> “I’m a thief with a fifty-thousand coin bounty on his head,” Garrett said, “I’m good at my job.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once more, thanks to the Taffers for their help. Special mention to Haethel for helping me think of things I would never have considered on my own.  
> Extra credit to my friend Tony for writing a wonderful paragraph about the oddities of stopped clocks.
> 
> Also, thanks to all the readers who have left kudos etc, it warms my heart to see you all supporting this! 
> 
> This chapter is very dialogue-heavy. I apologise, but I need to get the exposition done to get to the action, after all!

They left the distillery district behind them, the strong smell of peat inherently linked to the whiskey fading as they got further onto the river. Out here the smell of the river was overpowering, brine and rust and mud all mixed together. Corvo knew the smell well, during the Month of Clans his cell had flooded and he’d been ankle deep in water for four whole weeks. The sun was starting to rise, streaking the sky with red and purple, while also enhancing the river’s deep brown hue. Apparently the sun only felt the need to make _one_ thing better looking.

“So,” Garrett began, breaking the silence, “what kind of man breaks into a high-security compound, brands a man’s face, all for a coded notebook?”

Corvo looked up, finding Garrett poring through the notebook he’d taken from Campbell. He’d not noticed the man taking it from his pocket, reinforcing his suspicion that this Garrett was a professional thief of some sort. Garrett must have taken the book from him when he’d gotten into the boat.

“You branded him?” Samuel asked Corvo, forestalling any response.

“The Heretic’s Brand,” Corvo told him. “He is to be cast out by the Abbey. He is as good as dead.”

“What made you not kill him?”

“Honour,” was the reply. “The empress championed justice, most of all, fair justice. I wasn’t going to be hisexecutioner if I could find another means to dispose of him.”

“Do you think the admiral will take comfort in that?”

Corvo suppressed a laugh. “He’s going to have to. Havelock talks big but he hasn’t got the balls to do the job, it’s why they broke me out of Coldridge. What he doesn’t realise is that simply because I’m _doing_ the job, it doesn’t mean I have to do it _his_ way. I’m doing it for her, and her daughter.”

“How does this fit in?” Garrett asked, holding up the notebook. “Why were you sent to kill a man to begin with? This Havelock isn’t the man who sent you to get me, you said as much before. Who did?”

Corvo sighed inwardly, wondering how to phrase his answer.

“Someone called the Outsider sent me to you,” he eventually said. He caught the look Samuel gave him, fear and wonder in the same expression. “He said you were important, but he’d miscalculated in bringing you here. The Abbey has protection against his magic, so he needed me to get in there.”

“The Outsider,” Garrett repeated. “Well, I’m not impressed so far.”

“You should be,” Samuel told him. “He’s a god, or a demon, or both. Not many people get to look on the face of the Outsider. He’s heresy to some, to others he’s salvation.”

“He’s neither,” Corvo said. “He just watches and waits. You’re important if he feels the need to interfere.”

“Lucky me,” Garrett muttered.

“Have you thought of what you’re going to tell the admiral?”

“A little,” Corvo said. “Now that Martin’s with them the truth isn’t looking very good, _he’d_ probably want me locked up in Coldridge again. Pendleton would most likely eat his own arm than admit the Outsider exists, and Havelock would probably want to shoot me if I told him the Outsider was watching, let alone interfering. I was going to tell them that Garrett is a friend from Serkonos. None of them can refute that.”

Corvo turned to Garrett. “Think you can play along?”

“I’ll be fine,” Garrett said. “Except you haven’t said explained why you branded that man.”

“You really know nothing of the troubles this city has faced, do you?” Samuel asked.

“Where I’m from has its own troubles,” Garrett said. He sighed, passing a hand over his face. “I guess I’ll need to know yours,” he said, passing back the notebook, almost resigned all of a sudden. “What’s broken this city enough to break a man out of prison and let some type of god bring me here?”

For his part, Garrett’s expression was mostly unreadable during Corvo’s narration of the last six months, describing the events involving the Empress’ death and Emily’s disappearance. Samuel said nothing, aside from adding in a detail from what was happening outside of Coldridge prison during Corvo’s incarceration. He did raise an eyebrow when Corvo reached the part about his escape.

“I just find it strange that they waited until the day before your execution to get you out,” was all he’d said upon Corvo querying his change of expression.

Garrett fell silent again as Corvo narrated the events up to the present, including his visit from the Outsider, up until his discovery of Garrett in the Overseer’s interrogation room.

“I’m not the sort of person who would be inclined to help you in political matters like this,” Garrett said finally. “This Outsider of yours, if he’s as powerful as you say, is going to have to have a good reason for doing what he’s done. Not just because he wants to watch me dance.”

“What do _you_ remember about getting here?” Corvo asked him.

Garrett shrugged, before looking at his hands, adjusting one of his leather gloves. “I was on a job, an artist’s in Dayport. I got a headache – at first I wondered if it was the place I was in, it _stank,_ like pitch and oil paints. I didn’t want to linger long, so I got out fast with what I came for. Last thing I remember, I’d made it to the roof when the headache got so bad I passed out. I thought I saw-“ He broke off suddenly, looking into the river.

“Saw what?” Corvo asked.

 “Nothing,” Garrett replied, too quickly for Corvo’s liking, but he continued: “Next thing I know you’ve got a sword to my throat and I’m not in _my_ city, and I don’t even have the painting I went there for.”

“You’re a thief,” Samuel said, clearly not impressed.

“I am?” Garrett asked, a feigned surprise in his tone. “Someone should alert the Watch.”

“Careful, boy, or I really will put you in the river.”

 “He’s got a point,” Corvo said, interrupting them. “Why would you be brought here to help me with something that a person like you would most likely exploit?” he asked. “You are only a thief after all.”

“I’m a thief with a fifty-thousand coin bounty on his head,” Garrett said, “I’m good at my job.”

“Whatever you are and whatever your reason for being here,” Samuel told him, “I’d advise you not to tell the people we’re about to meet of your job. Most of them are people you would probably love to rob.”

“We’ll see,” Garrett said, turning to watch as Samuel pulled the boat up to the Hound Pits pub.

“Let me do the talking,” Corvo said, Garrett nodding his assent.

“Admiral Havelock and Lord Pendleton are in the courtyard,” Samuel said. “I expect they’ll want to congratulate you.”

As they approached the dock, Corvo spotted Callista sitting on a crate, watching their return. Her expression showed she was curious about the strange man Corvo and Samuel had brought back, but she didn’t comment on it, instead addressing Corvo when he disembarked the vessel.

“He’s alive! Thank you, Corvo, thank you. My uncle’s a good man, and one day he’ll prove it,” she said to him.

“I already know it Callista,” he told her, smiling softly.

“In any case, I want you to have this as a reward. I know you did what you did for the right reasons. It’s an old heirloom one of my aunts gave me.”

Callista pressed the object into Corvo’s hands before he could say anymore, and with a parting glance to Garrett (who looked _very_ relieved to be standing on solid ground), she made her way back to the main building.

When she was out of earshot, Garrett peered at the item. “Worth about a hundred gold where I’m from,” he commented. “Not a bad reward.”

“I didn’t do it for the reward,” Corvo said, passing it to the shorter man. “I never asked, what did you get out of that safe in the end?”

“Crossbow bolts and some coin,” Garrett said, stowing the item away. “I think you could use the bolts more than me.”

Corvo inspected the ammunition, finding that they were actually sleep darts. He wondered where the Overseers had gotten them, considering none of them were very adept at the weapons.

“Let’s see what Havelock and Pendleton say before we see who’s in need of weapons more,” he said. Garrett’s mouth twitched into a smirk at the comment.

Corvo led the way up the steps, noting that Garrett’s expression turned to a frown as he saw the graffiti left by someone most likely long dead: _The Outsider walks among us._ The graffiti had become a lot more extensive while Corvo had been imprisoned, the people turning to what they believed to be their only salvation in these harsh times. If only they knew that the divinity they prayed to had little care for which way the scales tipped.

Pendleton and Havelock were ahead of them, the latter using his pistol for target practice. Corvo noted the man had remarkably good accuracy.

“You couldn’t have picked a _better_ time to introduce me?” Garrett muttered, eyeing the weapons warily. Corvo noticed that he wasn’t actually carrying a firearm; his most lethal weapon was probably the bow and quiver of arrows. He was also aware that Garrett was not comfortable in the sunlight; he hugged the base of the wall where the shadows were. He guessed for a profession such as Garrett’s – if it could be called that – was one where darkness was optimal.

For a moment, Havelock appeared not to notice the small, lithe man next to Corvo, for he spoke: “You did it! Somehow you took down High Overseer Campbell against the odds. I knew you were our man, Corvo-“

He was cut off by Pendleton clearing his throat and nodding to Corvo’s companion.

“Don’t stop on my account,” Garrett said.

“Corvo, would you mind explaining yourself?” Havelock asked. To give the man credit, his tone was wary but not outright cold, Havelock knew Corvo would have to have a pretty good reason for bringing someone else to their hideout.

“This is Garrett,” he told them. “He’s a friend from Serkonos. He can help.”

“Need I remind you of the delicate situation we are in? What makes you so sure that you can trust this man? That we can trust him? And just _how_ exactly is it you can help?” Havelock asked Garrett, looking the strangely garbed man up and down. Corvo – and most likely Garrett also – spotted the derision with which the question was voiced.

“Not in a way that either of you would approve,” Garrett answered.

Havelock didn’t seem to have an answer to that for a second. The indifference Garrett had towards the man had disarmed him. Corvo had to hide his smirk.

“Corvo,” Havelock appeared as though he believed he would fare better addressing him, “I cannot take you on word alone. What we’re doing here is of utmost importance, but more than that, _secrecy._ Your ‘friend’ will need to be detained and questioned before I can allow him to do anything. You and Samuel will also have to answer questions to ensure his credibility.”

“If you think I’m going anywhere with you then we’re going to have a problem,” Garrett said, stepping back half a pace.

“Is my word not enough?” Corvo asked, keenly aware that the situation needed to be defused or Garrett would most likely get killed or disappear entirely, into an unfamiliar city. Corvo suspected the Outsider would not be pleased for either outcome.

“If this were any other situation it would be,” Havelock answered. “As it stands now I think it would be better to be safe than to discover he’s an agent of the Lord Regent.”

“This plan of yours really isn’t working out, is it?” Garrett said to Corvo. Corvo saw the man’s eyes were darting left and right, most likely working out possible escape routes.

“The man has a point Garrett, he knows nothing about you. I can’t expect him to trust you any more than you trust him.”

“That’s your problem,” Garrett countered. “You’ve still given _me_ little reason to trust _you_.”

“Even though you’re friends?” Pendleton asked, speaking up for the first time.

“So you _do_ talk,” Garrett said. “I thought you were his bodyguard for a moment, but you look like you’d fall over your own shoes if they were in your way.”

“You’re not making your situation any better,” Corvo said. “I can’t order you to comply but need I remind you of _how_ you’re here and the circumstance you’re in?” he asked, hoping Garrett would see sense soon enough and swallow his pride, or whatever it was.

Garrett, Corvo had realised, was a man who did not like taking orders. He didn’t appear to be a person who would successfully cultivate friends either, but at the moment Corvo was probably the only friend he’d have if he kept insulting Havelock and Pendleton.

Garrett, for a moment, looked undecided. He wavered between movement and stillness, eyes flicking between the three men stood before him. It appeared as if an impasse had been reached.

Or it did, until Havelock drew his pistol and pointed it at Garrett.

“I would be very careful with what you try to do next,” Garrett told the man. Corvo could see that if it came down to a fight Garrett would most likely lose, but there was something in his threat that gave Havelock pause.

“Admiral,” Corvo appealed. “It’s my understanding that you broke me out of Coldridge because you needed me to do the work that you can’t. What will you do when that help is no longer offered?”

It was a bold move, Corvo knew that without Havelock and the other Loyalists he would most likely be dead by now, and he still needed their help in finding Emily, but according to the Outsider Garrett was _far more_ important. Corvo wasn’t even sure if he understood himself why he was taking such a risk.

“Your friend is this important?” Havelock asked. “You would jeopardise the entire city for _him?”_

“I’m not the one putting him in jeopardy,” Corvo countered.

There was a beat, a pause in which neither party moved, before Havelock moved his pistol and fired, hitting the bottles that he’d been practising on earlier.

“That is a warning. If you do anything that I don’t like, I’ll kill you myself,” he said.

“Save your threats for later,” Garrett said. “I’m not interested to know what you _might_ do.”

“We have more important business,” Corvo said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out Campbell’s notebook. He passed it to Havelock.

“The journal, let’s not forget that,” he said, almost as relieved for the change of subject as everyone else. “Our hope is that, within these encoded pages, the location and condition of Emily Kaldwin can be discovered. Our entire movement will mean nothing if we can’t place the rightful heir on the throne. We must act fast. No doubt the Lord Regent is holding Emily somewhere, waiting to reveal her, to step out as the hero and further cement his regency.”

“If he doesn’t bring the young lady forth soon, there’ll be in-fighting among the nobles as to who should succeed the Empress,” Pendleton added.

“Time is against us. But, you should rest, Corvo,” Havelock said. “You and your... friend,” he added, with another look to Garrett, who returned it with a cold, unfathomable stare. “We will decipher the contents of the High Overseer’s journal and share them with you later.”

Garrett followed Corvo after he bade Havelock and Pendleton farewell, back towards the main building of the Hound Pits.

“That could have gone better,” he said to Corvo, who nodded his agreement.

“We still need to get you past Martin, later,” he said. “And Martin most likely _knows_ you aren’t from Serkonos.”

“Your Outsider should take this as a cue to hurry up with his explanation then,” Garrett said, as they passed into the darker interior of the pub. Almost immediately Garrett looked happier to be out of the sun.

“I work nights,” he said, upon catching Corvo’s look.

“This way,” Corvo said, heading towards the stairs that led to his room. He suspected Havelock wouldn’t appreciate Garrett anywhere else.

Before he could make any distance, however, his attention was drawn by a cry of pain. Turning back, he found Garrett leaning against the wall, his hand pressed to his head. It didn’t escape Corvo’s notice that he was holding the right side of his head, the one with the strangely-coloured eye.

“Garrett?” he questioned, stepping towards the man.

Garrett’s head snapped up, and Corvo caught a flash of expression – confusion and pain – before the unreadable mask was up again and Garrett stood up straight, one hand still on the side of his head.

“I’m fine,” he said. “I-“

He didn’t get to finish his sentence, with a cry of pain he clutched the side of his head again, this time falling to the floor.

For a moment, Corvo was stock-still with shock. He peered down at the now limp form of Garrett, for a moment wondering if it was simply a ploy by the man. Closer inspection proved otherwise, Garrett was out cold. His pulse was steady and the man was breathing, but other than that Corvo had nothing to identify what had caused him to black out other than the pain he’d apparently experienced.

 _I hope Piero can remember his medical training,_ he thought, crouching and easily lifting the unconscious man.

He drew the attention of almost everybody at the Hound Pits carrying Garrett to the workshop, he even spotted Havelock pausing in his target practise to turn and look at them.

Piero, for his part, made no comment when Corvo laid him down on the workbench.

“He collapsed,” he told the man by way of explanation. “You’re the only person here with medical knowledge, as far as I know.”

“Strange outfit,” was all Piero said, moving Garrett’s scarf aside to properly take a pulse. “Do you know what caused this injury?” he asked, indicating the scarring on the side of Garrett’s face.

“No, but he was holding that side of his head when he went down,” Corvo told him. “It was like he was in pain.”

Piero said nothing, before lifting Garrett’s eyelids and peering at them. His eyes widened in surprise upon seeing the eerie blue glow of Garrett’s right eye, but he made no comment.

After a few more minutes of careful inspection, Piero stepped back. “As far as I can tell it is nothing physical. I was never the best at being a physician, however, much to Sokolov’s pleasure. In any case, he will most likely wake in a few hours.”

Corvo nodded, and picking up Garrett, thanked Piero before heading back to his rooms. There was a spare mattress on the floor of his room, it wasn’t much, but it would do. He quickly removed Garrett’s bow and other weaponry, placing it on the floor next to his mattress, and arranged his cloak in some form of blanket, placing a spare in case Garrett needed it.

It was at this point that Corvo realised how tired _he_ was, he still hadn’t fully recovered from his time in Coldridge and he’d been up the entire night getting to Campbell. The tension earlier had only sapped him further, so with a quick glance at the sleeping figure on the floor, Corvo practically crashed onto his bed, the sound of a loudspeaker announcement lulling him to sleep.

_“Attention. All citizens living on the north side of the river between John Clavering Boulevard and Dunwall Tower are advised to remain indoors until further notice.”_

                                                                                            

* * *

 

It was cold. Corvo instantly recognised the deep chill that the Void gave him, settling into his bones, like he was immersed in the deepest part of the ocean, where the great leviathans were said to reside. He could smell the earthy, musty scent of well-used leather, and the sharp tang of grease settled in the back of his throat.  Upon opening his eyes, he found himself to not be in his bed at the Hound Pits; the room and its interior he didn’t recognise at all. A vast network of cogs and gears stretched away to his left, while a stairwell was above his head. Rising, it took Corvo a moment to realise he was on the inside of a clock tower. Light streamed in through the clock face and shuttered windows high above him; candles flickered in a non-existent breeze, reminding Corvo that this was not a real place, only an image. Moving towards the bottom of the stairs, a gleam caught his eye.

Corvo found himself looking at several cases, each displaying sets of jewellery, and a collection of what looked like antique plaques from a city. Closer inspection of one showed that a lot of the words had been rubbed off, but some text was legible:

_Hers was the dream the Baron brought to life. Founded BRy452._

“Do you like my collection?” a voice asked, and Corvo turned to find Garrett leaning against a railing, looking up at the mechanism of the clock tower.

“I’m impressed,” Corvo replied. “Why the plaques?”

“I have an interest in history,” Garrett said.

They were silent for a moment, before Garrett spoke again.

“This is my home. It looks like my home, anyway,” he said. “I know it isn’t, though.”

“Because I’m here?”

“The clock isn’t working,” Garret answered. He gestured to the intricately meshed array. The great hulking metal cogs and gears lay dead and motionless on their rods and axles. While Corvo expected to hear the clinks and clanks of teeth on teeth and springs twanging, it was silent. It was oppressive; this building once alive and full of the noise of time passing reduced to nothing more than a storehouse of cast iron parts. The clockwork seemed to stare down at them, gazing upon the two men as they in turn gazed up at the still mechanism.

“I always make sure it’s running. I like the sound of ticking,” Garrett said. “And you’re here,” he added, turning to face Corvo. “What happened? I remember-“ he paused, frowning. “There was a pain, in my head-“ he gestured to the side of his face “-and then I blacked out. What happened after?”

“I took you to Piero, he’s a doctor – of sorts – and he couldn’t find anything wrong with you. He said you would wake in a few hours. As for me, there wasn’t much else I could do besides sleep, so here we are.”

 “This is a dream? Is this your friend’s doing?”

“I never said he was my friend,” Corvo told him. “Yes, it is the Outsider. I think he prefers to wait until we’re asleep, or perhaps he can’t affect a conscious mind unless you’re at a shrine of his. He won’t come to us, though. We’ll have to find him.” He peered around the tower. “How do you leave this place?”

“Up there,” Garrett pointed to the top of the stairwell. “You have to climb down the outside of the tower, re-enter and take a stairwell to a more respectable level.” He paused. “It’s how I ensure my privacy. And nobody climbs the tower this high anyway.”

“Why not?” Corvo asked, as they mounted the stairs, coming to the open window.

“They think it’s haunted,” Garrett smiled suddenly, before exiting the window.

Following Garrett down the series of beams and scaffolding, Corvo got to see the man in the environment he truly called his own. Countless buildings stretched out beneath him, all hemmed together like people huddled for warmth. The only indication that they weren’t actually in the city Garrett came from was the sky being replaced with the vast blue expanse of the Void. In the distance, Corvo saw that the edges of the city were falling into the blue. He wondered how far they would have to search before the Outsider decided to make his appearance.

They reached the door Garrett had mentioned beforehand, wherein he had to disarm several mechanisms surrounding it.

“Warnings, traps, that sort of thing,” he said, “just in case someone _is_ curious enough to come up here.”

He opened the door, gesturing for Corvo to enter first. He stepped into a darkened room, vast blackness stretching before them. It was only when Garrett entered, closing the door behind him, did he realise that their environment had changed. The wooden beams and supports, and most notably the stairwell, Corvo had expected to see were gone. Instead they were replaced with cold flagstones, and a darkness that he could barely see by.

“Is he some sort of Trickster? Is this one of his tricks?” Garrett asked, placing a hand on the brickwork.

 _The one who walks here is all things. Cradle songs of comfort and bones gnawed by teeth._ The Heart surprised Corvo for a moment, before he turned to Garrett.

“Honestly? I don’t know. This place has never made any sense to me.”

“Well, if it is, I want to know why he decided the basement of an asylum inhabited by blind abominations was appropriate.”

Garrett pressed his hand to the wall, which Corvo saw was actually metal. After a few seconds, his eyes adjusted, and he realised he was looking at a cell door. He took a step forward, peering through the grate. Barely perceptible in the darkness, a figure loomed, humanoid but inherently _wrong._ It was disconcerting, and Corvo soon drew back from the window.

_Can you hear them too? Crying out in the dark?_

The Heart’s comment unsettled Corvo further, and he said nothing, instead following Garrett’s lead as they crept down the corridor. A blue light flared in the distance, giving the pair light to see by as they trod over the stones. Glass crunched under their feet at one point, and Garrett flinched, eyes wide as he searched around them. Corvo saw he was agitated, carefully examining all his surroundings as he moved forward. He wondered what exactly the abominations Garrett had mentioned were. He hadn’t wanted to look through the doors of cells on either side of them for fear of attracting attention; despite the fact Corvo knew nothing could harm them in the Void. He was about to speak, when they reached the source of the blue light.

“I thought as much,” Garrett said, bending to pick the flower – a poppy, by Corvo’s estimate, except the colours were wrong. He plucked at the petals for a moment, lost in thought, before a bright light engulfed them both, causing them to shield their eyes.

“Looking for me?” a voice asked, one Corvo instantly recognised as belonging to the Outsider.

He lowered his arm, to find himself standing in yet again another unfamiliar room, the sides of which fell away to the vast blue Void. The Outsider himself hovered over a pedestal in the centre of the room, black eyes keenly watching the pair.

Garrett looked the Outsider over, before speaking. “I was hoping you’d be something more like Red Jenny.”

To Corvo’s surprise, the Outsider actually _laughed,_ setting a deeper chill in his bones more than anything else he had experienced. It echoed around them, deepening in pitch and taking on a hollow, bitter edge that brought to mind the rattling of things long-dead and best forgotten. And then, from the deep blue abyss below them, an answering call; a sound Corvo had only heard once in his life, that of a great whale from the depths of the ocean.

Judging by Garrett’s reaction, it wasn’t well-received by him, either. The man winced, pressing his hand to his blue eye, the other closing in pain.

“If Red Jenny were summoning you here, would you really wish to see her?” the Outsider asked. “Corvo,” he said, turning his attention to the other man. “Your choices fascinate me. You spared High Overseer Campbell, then you almost jeopardise your entire mission for a man who does not trust you? I’m older than the rocks the city was built on, and even I didn’t see that coming.”

Corvo said nothing, and the Outsider turned his attention to Garrett.

“ _You_ fascinate me even more. You were not chosen, like Corvo; I dismissed you when I saw you, yet even fate had a way of fooling me to your motivations. For a man who abhors involving himself in public affairs, you played a key part in the downfall of Orion and his Graven.”

“It wasn’t for Orion’s benefit,” Garrett answered.

“No, it wasn’t, was it?” the Outsider asked, regarding the man in his black-eyed gaze. “It was for someone who resented your success and your control, who never understood your methods and motivations, and in all, someone who, for all accounts, just wanted to be _noticed_ by you.”

“If you’re asking me if I think I failed Erin, I think you’ve made your point,” Garrett replied.

“Failure is subjective. I, for one, found it interesting that you would sacrifice so much. Would you be willing to do it again?”

“I get the feeling that you’re definitely not asking,” Garrett said. “Is that the reason why you brought me here? Why you’ve made this place look like Northcrest Manor’s Ceremony Room?” He gestured to the surroundings, the chapel-like room with an altar and a pedestal set into the middle. Braziers burned at the walls and banners hung around them. The only thing that was odd about the room was the roof – a glass dome that had shattered.

“I thought it fitting.” Corvo caught the Outsider smiling a little. “After all, this is where it all began. You and Erin interfering with the Baron’s ritual; a ritual that could have resulted in a lot worse had you not.”

“You call her falling into- into a cosmic energy- or whatever it was- interference?” Garrett asked.

“The Primal is a force which Elias Northcrest and his brother had hoped to rule the city with. What they did not understand, and now few who reside in your city do, is that the Primal exists for _balance._ What you and Erin did upset the balance, but if the Northcrests had continued their ritual to completion it would have overthrown the very order they wished to keep.”

“How do you know this? What exactly is this Primal?” Corvo asked.

The Outsider was silent for a moment, as if considering the answer to the question.

“I reside in this space alone. But, as you both now know, there are many _other_ spaces outside of this. There are also many other forces. The Primal is a way in which I can watch, or I can influence, one of these many realms in an effort to maintain the equilibrium. In short, _I_ am the Primal. If the Northcrests had finished their ritual they would have breached the Void itself, and most likely I would have perished. Your _interference_ stopped this.”

“If your way of saying thank you is embedding a piece of this in my eye-“

“It was not, once more Fate eluded my gaze,” the Outsider interrupted. “You should count yourself lucky that it was not a larger piece, or you would have ended up more like Erin, corrupted and attuned to the very souls and foundations I set the Primal to watch.”

“So why am I here, if not for you to thank me?”

“When you set out to restore the Primal Stone and collect its energy back within the vessel, you were working under the assumption that it was in four parts: a piece held in the Great Safe of the Keep, a second held in the laboratory under Northcrest Manor, a third by the Graven leader Orion, and the fourth, residing in your eye. Only _you_ could bring them together, or even sense them, because you are attuned to the forces of the Primal. More so, you _withstood_ the corruption that many others succumbed to. A simple thief, standing where others perceived to be greater would fall. But your task is not complete.”

“Let me guess, there’s another piece?” Garrett asked. Corvo could almost detect the defeated resignation in his tone.

“Did you not question why the Gloom was still prevalent in the City?” the Outsider asked. “It is fed by discord, suffering, sorrow; the strongest emotions the Primal can detect. Six months ago the city of Dunwall was rocked by the assassination of the Empress and the implication of her Royal Protector in the plot to murder her,” he gestured to Corvo. “It is teetering on its foundations.”

“You are correct, there is another piece. A shard, small enough to not cause an issue in your world, but significant enough to cause many in Corvo’s. The Primal was never supposed to exist in any other space but yours. If you do not act soon, both your worlds will collapse, followed by others; like a house of cards they will come crashing down until they are unrecognisable as what they once were. _Find it,_ and reunite it with the remaining shards, and this will not happen.”

There was silence for a moment, while Corvo and Garrett took in the full meaning of the Outsider’s words. Corvo surmised that he and Garrett were going to have to have a very long conversation, just so Corvo could _understand_ what was going on. How had Garrett ended up with a piece of this cosmic force in his _eye?_

“If this is so important to you, why do you need me to do it? I am, by your standards, a simple thief, after all. You’re the supposed deity,” Garrett said.

“Simply put, I cannot,” the Outsider answered. “The Primal is hidden from me, it _knows_ I am looking for it and does not want to be found. It cannot detect _you_ as you are too closely intertwined with it. It is always difficult to see oneself as you truly are, after all.”

“Why does it not want to be found?” Corvo asked.

“It is like me, it enjoys throwing a stone in the ocean and watching the ripples. And the ripples have only just started to form. It does not want its show interrupted.”

“So, I have to find this shard somehow,” Garrett surmised. “Without help from you.”

“I did not say you would not be without help,” the Outsider said. “I gave Corvo tools to aid his mission, and while you would not be best-suited to receive my mark, I can give you _this.”_

He raised his hand, a small gleaming object floated above it. It was round, silver metal with a greenish blue tinge. It instantly reminded Corvo of Garrett’s eye, even the colours were similar.

“This eye once belonged to the man you call the Sneak Thief,” the Outsider explained. “He was much like you, he was not _impressive,_ unless he was pressed to do so. But he was never more than a simple blackhand who stole to pay rent.”

“I found that in the basement of the Moira Asylum,” Garrett said. “It suggests to me that he might have had some pretty interesting times.”

“Oh, he did,” the Outsider said. “His original eye was cut out on the orders of the Trickster, after all. This eye was created for him by those who wished to seek alliance, but the Sneak Thief had his own agenda, like you. I thought it fitting to now give it to you.”

He waved his hand, and the eye disappeared. Corvo suspected it would act the way the Heart did – Garrett would not be able to hold it or see it, but it would always be _there,_ a constant entity on the fringes of his mind.

“With this Eye, you will be able to _see_ in a much greater depth. You will be able to see into the very depths of beings and people, into the very soul of the city. Like the Primal, you will be attuned to the foundations of _everything_. And they will speak. You should listen every once in a while.”

“I will be watching, and when your task is complete, I shall return you to your home. Just make sure you don’t meet Red Jenny along the way.”

With his final, parting words, the Outsider disappeared, leaving Garrett and Corvo stood in the facsimile of the Ceremony Room, alone.

“He’s even worse than I imagined,” Garrett said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope I explained the situation clearly enough. If not, let me know and I'll make sure to explain it better in notes or something.  
> I also hope I did the Outsider justice. He's actually a fairly difficult character to write. More so than a character with a hard-to-detect personality (Garrett) and none at all (Corvo, simply because he doesn't speak).
> 
> Not sure when the next chapter will be up. As ever, patience is a virtue, my friends.
> 
> The description of how to get down Garrett's clocktower was made by fellow Taffers, Sorrowsfall and Astral-Veil. A post can be found here: http://bit.ly/1nsH99j


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Anything else you’d wish to add before we leave?” Corvo asked, as the boat drew up to shore.  
> “The last time I was in a brothel, it caught fire.”  
> “I’m pretty certain that’s not how you’re meant to treat the ladies."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise for the overall lateness of this chapter my friends, I bought and played new games, went to a festival, and overall just kinda procrastinated on it. Plus, this chapter is longer than the previous two, simply because I didn't want to have to split the Golden Cat mission in two, and the dialogue at the start took more time than I thought it would.
> 
> Thanks once more to my Taffers for helping me with Garrett's reaction to some events.
> 
> Enjoy!

Corvo woke to pale grey light filtering in through the window. He was back in his bed in the Hound Pits, none the worse for his and Garrett’s visit to the cold blue expanses of the Void. He and the man had spent a long time after the Outsider had left them discussing the events in Garrett’s city, while Corvo had shown him the full extent and power of the Outsider’s Mark.

Looking over to where he’d laid Garrett earlier, Corvo found the mattress empty, blanket next to it untouched. He rose, stretching, before judging the time of day to be around midday, meaning he’d gotten at least a few hours sleep – not that it came naturally to him anymore, nightmares and prison had left him with a tendency to sleep less than he used to.

Garrett was not there, but his equipment was. On the floor in front of the mattress, Corvo saw arrows of varying types – the heads differed – had been placed on the floor in a neat row, presumably so the man could take inventory. He inspected them for a moment, before picking up one with a larger head. The inside glowed, a compound of some sort that Corvo couldn’t identify.

“Be careful with that.”

Corvo looked up to see his guest stood by the door. In the Void, Garrett had explained to him what had occurred in his city; Erin, the gloom, the Graven, and most importantly how the Primal had played a key part in it all. And now the force was loose in Corvo’s own city, and if the Outsider were speaking the truth (Corvo had little reason to doubt otherwise) it would cause untold destruction in both places. But, looking at Garrett now, Corvo could see that past events had affected him more than the man would ever say. Corvo had lost six months of his life in Coldridge Prison. Garrett had lost a _year;_ more so, he had lost a year he couldn’t remember. He’d returned to a city that had changed completely and been caught up in a fight he’d had no intention of being a part of. He may have prevailed, but the cost would most likely be one that would take a long time to recover from. And now, he was being drawn back into the fray, in a place he did not recognise as his own.

Corvo saw loneliness in Garrett, a loneliness the man would not even admit to himself. Here, in Dunwall, he was lonelier than ever, with nothing familiar and nobody to call a friend. Corvo was not naive enough to say he was Garrett’s friend, not yet anyway.

He placed the arrow he’d been looking at back in the pile, standing up to face the man.

“Interesting devices,” he commented. “What are the different tips?” he asked.

Garrett took a few steps forward, crouching and starting to replace the arrows in his quiver. As he did so, he explained each arrow to Corvo.

“Broadhead and Sawtooth,” he said. “Offensive arrows. I don’t like to use them, but it’s wise to come prepared. These are simple blunt ones, to create noise or knock down pulleys I can’t reach. _This_ is filled with water, I use them to snuff out light sources – open flame ones, and from what I’ve seen of your city they’re going to be all but useless here. These ones-“ he indicated an arrow with a hook-like device on the end and a rope wound around it “-allow me to reach higher places on a more permanent level than the Claw. If I’m going to be using the same entrance to get in and out of a place, it’s easier to plan ahead with one of these.”

“What about these last three?” Corvo asked.

“This one sets fires,” Garrett said, replacing the aforementioned arrow. “These are more explosive – useful if I need to create a big distraction – and these ones have a nerve agent inside that disorients men and animals for a few seconds. Choke arrows. Better than killing them.”

Corvo nodded his agreement. “Piero might be able to fashion you some more arrows to your specialisations,” he said. “You would probably have to leave him with some examples, but otherwise you’re unlikely to find anywhere that will supply what you need. Bows are a redundant weapon in this city – the guard here carries pistols more often than not.”

Garrett smirked. “Mine can’t even afford the bullets to go in the pistols.”

He finished placing the arrows in the quiver, before placing it on his back. Corvo noticed he was already wearing his other equipment.

“I had a look around here while you were still asleep,” he said. “The tower is interesting. As is the man in the workshop. I presume he’s Piero?”

Corvo nodded. “He’ll most likely want to look you over again,” he said. “Although it would probably be best not to tell him the reason for your eyes being the way they are. Not many people are privy to the Outsider’s knowledge, after all.”

“I wonder why,” Garrett muttered.

Corvo lead the way down to the ground floor of the Hound Pits, seeking out Havelock and the others. On the way down they passed Wallace, Pendleton’s manservant, and Lydia, who were in deep discussion about the running of the Hound Pits. As the pair passed, the conversation ceased, as both eyed Garrett with expressions mingling between curiosity and caution, although Corvo saw Wallace also bore an extra layer of hostility – the man had delusions of grandeur, a noble’s servant who thought he belonged to the class above him.

The bar area of the Pits was empty; Corvo gathered Havelock and Pendleton were outside somewhere, and said so to Garrett. The man nodded, deftly picking up an apricot tart from the bar as he passed.

“I think I saw them stood near the side of the building, earlier,” he said, breaking off a piece of the tart. “I didn’t catch any of their conversation, though.”

He frowned as he chewed. “Even this thing tastes like fish,” he muttered. Corvo snuffed a laugh as they approached Havelock and Pendleton, who were stood by a set of steps that lead to the sewer tunnels under the Hound Pits.

“Hello Corvo, Garrett,” the man said, nodding his head. He paused for a moment, as if deciding his next words. “I should apologise for my manner before,” he said to Garrett. “I had no reason to trust you, and the fact of the matter is I still don’t. Yet, you have done nothing to prove yourself as suspicious, and it is doubtful the Lord Regent would send a man in your condition to spy on us.” He held out a hand for Garrett to shake. “As it is, I apologise for putting you in the situation I did.”

“My condition?” Garrett asked, raising an eyebrow. He didn’t take Havelock’s proffered hand, instead placing another piece of the tart in his mouth and chewing slowly.

“It came to my attention that you collapsed yesterday, after talking with us. I can only assume it was due to undue stress, which we – _I –_ most likely caused. Perhaps combined with the injury to your face?” Havelock asked, after he let his hand drop, clearly seeing the lost cause in getting Garrett to shake his hand.

“My condition is just fine, _admiral,”_ Garrett replied. After a beat, he spoke again. “You should be more worried about yourself. You’re not used to being on land this long, are you? You ache to be back on the sea, do you not?”

Havelock didn’t answer Garrett’s equally personal question. Instead he turned to Corvo.

“I expect that Martin will be joining us shortly,” he began. “I hate to start your day with such a strange matter but the servants heard something last night, moving through the storm drains beneath the building. Most likely a weeper, the poor bastard. There’s no hope for them once the plague gets that far along. Nothing more than a shuffling corpse full of sickness and insects, if you ask me. I’d appreciate you investigating. Just to be sure it’s not a nosy guardsman that’s getting too close.”

“Too scared to go down yourself?” Garrett asked. He snuffed a quiet laugh. “I’d hate to see you with the plague victims where I’m from.”

“We’ll take a look,” Corvo said, forestalling any further confrontation between the two. He could tell he was going to have his work cut out keeping Garrett from angering either Havelock or Pendleton. When Martine arrived, it would most likely get even worse.

“Here’s a key to the hatches,” Havelock continued. “I’d send a servant down, but they’d die of fear on the spot, I’m afraid. Perhaps Garrett here can gain an understanding of just how bad the plague is.”

“Oh, I know how bad plague can get,” Garrett said, as they began to head down the steps. “Where I’m from, you get the plague, you go mad. Claw your own eyes out, try to stop the visions. Most end up killing themselves, driven insane by the voices and lack of sleep. Compared to home, the weepers here sound like cattle.”

“It’s getting harder to for him to not shoot you, you know,” Corvo said, as they entered the sewer tunnel, dropping into the shaft.

Garrett snorted. “I’ll take _that_ threat seriously when he does his own dirty work, instead of sending you.”

As they crept into the tunnel, sounds of the weepers echoing off the walls around them, a thought occurred to Corvo.

“How did you know he wanted to get back onto the sea?” he asked.

Garrett was silent for a few seconds, simply listening to the sound of the weepers.

“The Outsider’s gift to me,” he began. “The eye. It- it spoke. It told me too look at the admiral. That he was restless on land. And I could see it, I could see the _ache_ in him, how he wanted to simply be commanding his fleet out on the ocean. And the eye _told me so_.”

Garrett’s voice was quiet and sounding further unsure than Corvo had ever heard it since meeting the man. Corvo recognised the dissonance.

“It used a voice you recognised?” he asked. Garrett paused in his movements, regarding Corvo for a few seconds.

“He gave me something similar,” Corvo elaborated, keeping his voice even. “A heart. I don’t know whether he thought it funny, but it speaks with the voice of Jessamine. The Empress.”

Garrett nodded, and they continued along the walkway for a few moments, coming to the water’s edge. Corvo stepped in, it was cold and came to his knees, but otherwise there were no dangers in the water – the hagfish never came into the sewers, preferring the (somewhat) cleaner open waters. Garrett, for his part, stopped on the edge, looking down into the water. He seemed to take a breath, before he too joined Corvo in the knee-deep water.

They were silent as they moved carefully through the still waters, not wanting to alert the weepers. Rounding the corner, Corvo spotted two of them; one crouched over some rubbish, another roving the corridor off the walkway.

“We can knock them out,” Corvo whispered as they silently hoisted themselves onto the platform. “Piero will most likely like a test subject or two for his new cure.”

Garrett nodded, reaching behind him and taking out his bow. With a well-practised movement, the bow snapped open, Garrett reaching behind him to take out an arrow, one of the small blunt ones he’d described before.

“I can create a distraction, then you can sneak up behind and take them out,” he said, testing the tension on the bowstring. Corvo nodded his approval, crouching low by the wall so as to not alert the two weepers.

The arrow hit the drainage gate on the far end of the tunnel, drawing the attention of both the weepers. It was a simple matter of blinking up behind the two and rendering them unconscious, which Corvo did with ease. He was starting to unnerve himself with how well-practised he was at the manoeuvre.

“It’s a useful gift,” Garrett said, joining Corvo. “Movement like that would be _very_ handy for someone like me.”

“Perhaps that’s why you weren’t chosen to bear the mark,” Corvo reasoned. “You’d become less interesting to the Outsider.”

“Less? I thought I was at the bottom of the pile anyway. I’m _certainly_ not in the same level as you.” Garrett was silent for a moment, looking down at the weepers. “I can see why they’ve got their name,” he said eventually.

Corvo nodded his agreement. “We should get back to the others,” he said, turning and leading the way down the tunnel. The hatch was easy enough to open, and a long chain dangled into the sewer, providing easy access to the cellar of the Hound Pits. Outside, Cecilia hovered by the hatch, informing Corvo that Martin had arrived, as well as giving the now-usual curious glance to Garrett.

Before entering the bar area, Corvo lingered, motioning at Garrett to stop. The man had been silent since leaving the sewer tunnels, simply following Corvo’s lead. Corvo got the impression that he was deep in his own thoughts, about the task given to him by the Outsider and how he was exactly supposed to accomplish it. In hindsight, the plan hadn’t been very clear, but Corvo knew the Outsider was unlikely to give them any more information, even if his existence depended on it.

“Problem?” Garrett asked.

“Overseer Martin,” Corvo answered. “He might be one. We’ll see,” he said. He was about the head into the room, before he paused again. “This is probably going to be a useless request, but for your sake more than anything, try and be nice.”

Corvo was sure he caught Garrett smirking as they walked into the bar area. Havelock and Martin were in deep conversation. The light of day did nothing to dissuade the unsettling feeling the latter man gave Corvo.

_There are few brave enough to laugh in the Outsider’s face. But Teague Martin is one,_ the Heart whispered, instantly causing Corvo to reassess his view on Martin. The man was unsettling, that was for sure, but Corvo had reasoned it to his own paranoia. But this new revelation made Corvo realise that, if pushed, Martin would probably be the most dangerous one of the Loyalists.

 Garrett lingered behind Corvo, regarding both men with his usual disinterest mixed with derision.

“Corvo,” Havelock greeted him. “I trust you remember Martin. An Overseer before, and perhaps again someday soon.”

“I owe you thanks for my rescue,” he said, before the figure behind Corvo drew his eye.

“And _who_ are you?” he asked, eyeing Garrett over. Garrett returned his gaze evenly, not speaking.

“This is Garrett. A friend from Serkonos,” Corvo said, knowing that Martin would not fall for his lie. Mostly, he wanted to see what the man would do, see that his judgement of the man was accurate.

“Serkonos?” Martin asked, eyeing Garrett once more. “Forgive me for saying, but you look like no man from Serkonos that I’ve ever known.”

“I’ve been travelling recently,” Garrett answered.

“Indeed,” Martin said. “I won’t ask you how you managed to... _acquire_ our new ally,” he said, though Corvo did notice the man’s gaze flicker to the Mark on his hand for a second. “But I trust he is skilled enough to aid you in your mission?”

“You do your job, Overseer, and I’ll do mine,” Garrett replied. “We’ll see who fares better.”

“In any case,” Havelock broke in. “You’ve given us a glimmer of hope, Corvo, because we’ve got what we wanted from Campbell’s journal. We know where Emily Kaldwin is being held.”

At mention of Emily, Corvo instantly had several emotions run through him. Hope, happiness, sadness for her mother; but most of all he felt _fear_ for the girl, for what had happened to her while Corvo had been imprisoned and she’d been hidden away. He didn’t say anything though, instead allowing the pair to continue. Behind him, Garrett shifted on his feet.

“The Golden Cat, of all places,” Martin said. “A bathhouse for the aristocrats. Little better than a cursed brothel.”

“But there’s an unfortunate twist,” Havelock broke in. “It appears that Pendleton’s own kinsmen stand in our way. The twins Morgan and Custis. Not only are they controlling Emily, but they have the controlling parliamentary votes that we so desperately need.”

He turned back towards the bar as Martin continued: “Yes, the Pendletons have to die. But most importantly, Emily must be brought here safely so we can protect her until the Lord Regent and his entourage have been dealt with. Pendleton’s waiting on the dock. He’s asked to brief you personally – I think it’s best.”

With a short nod to Corvo and Garrett, Martin turned and left, leaving the pair alone in the bar.

“Brothers sending people to kill their own?” Garrett asked. “Sounds like your city isn’t so different from mine after all.”

Corvo looked over to him. “You’re coming with me. I might need someone of your skill to get into the Golden Cat. It’s not a place I’ve been to. And I don’t trust that Havelock or Martin won’t try and kill you if I left you here.”

“I’m definitely not going to find the stone here, either,” Garrett added. “The more I get to see of your city, the better.”

He looked over to the door. “Martin is an interesting man. He knows we’re lying about where I’m from.”

“He saw you sleeping in a chair in the High Overseer’s office. A chair you didn’t move from for a week. If I were him, I’d be right to suspect too,” Corvo replied. “He might try and get something to use to his advantage later on. For now, we can’t do anything without causing Havelock to suspect you more than he already does. I have no desire to repeat this morning’s situation.”

Garrett nodded his assent, and the men turned to leave the bar and head to the dock. On the way, they stopped at Piero’s workshop, where Corvo picked up some more darts for his crossbow.

“You seem to have recovered well,” Piero said to Garrett. “Do you know what the cause was? I did not see any signs of plague on you, so you need not fear that.”

“It definitely wasn’t that,” Garrett nodded his agreement, before reaching behind him and pulling three arrows out of his quiver. “Corvo tells me you can make arrows. Will these be a problem?”

Piero took the three arrows with interest; Corvo recognised them as the Broadhead, Rope and Choke.

“You made these?” Piero asked, inspecting them. “What does the agent in this do? It is not one I recognised.”

“It’s a combination of sulphur and quicklime,” Garrett informed him. “Enough to incapacitate, but not kill.”

Piero nodded, placing the arrow on the table. “These other two are simple enough. Ingenious designs, may I add. I would be very interested to see how the other arrows you carry work. But you have pressing business,” Piero turned to Corvo. “I assume your friend here is going with you – I saw enough of his conversations with Havelock to know it wouldn’t be prudent for him to remain here. However, I do not have any materials to make a mask for him.”

“I’ve got my own,” Garrett said, indicating his scarf.

“Indeed,” Piero replied, “but I designed Corvo’s here with a filter to counteract the worst of plague. Yours will not provide such protection.”

“I’ll hold my breath,” Garrett told him, before he was silent for a moment. “I’m most likely immune to the plague anyway; I was to the one in my home city.”

“Is that so?” Piero asked. “Perhaps I should ask for a sample of your blood instead. If I found a cure before Sokolov he would be _most_ displeased.”

“Not now,” Corvo said. “As you said, we’ve business to attend to.”

Piero nodded his agreement. “Lord Pendleton is outside. I believe he wished to see you before you left?”

The pair left Piero to his work, finding Pendleton near the steps to the dockside. The man gave Garrett a cursory look, but chose to address Corvo instead. After the results of their previous conversations, Corvo could see why he would prefer to speak to him. Especially with the matter being as serious as it was.

“I’ve asked to speak to you myself,” the man began. Corvo could hear the faint tremor in his voice – Pendleton was keeping up a good facade, but clearly the topic of conversation was affecting him far more than perhaps even he realised. Corvo wondered what it would be like to be in his position. He’d had no family to speak of, besides the Empress, and he’d heard enough rumours around court to know many people suspected his relationship to Emily Kaldwin be more than her protector. Part of Corvo admired Pendleton’s resolve – he was able to stand in front of the man who would kill his family. Corvo wondered if he would be able to keep his calm if he faced the one who killed the Empress like Pendleton was facing him now.

“You see,” Pendleton continued, “I’m sending you to kill my older brothers, Morgan and Custis. They’re horrible men; it’s true, as you may have heard. Cruel beyond words.” He broke off, reaching for a bottle of whiskey by his side. “Further, my brothers are close allies to the Lord Regent, and as long as they are in Parliament, we cannot gather the votes we’ll need to stop the Lord Regent from further consolidating his power. These days, they’re best known for exploiting their favour with him to cheat others out of their wealth. Let’s just say that not every family evicted and quarantined for having the plague actually _has_ the plague.”

“Nice to see things never change wherever you are,” Garrett muttered.

Pendleton chose to ignore Garrett, and continued: “I warned my brothers in every way I could, I really did, but they never did listen to me. They’ll be at the Golden Cat tonight, at their usual revels. They’ll be protected by the City Watch, so it’ll be dangerous.”

“Now go,” he finished, reaching for the bottle once more. “Please do it before I change my mind.”

_The younger Pendleton. Jealous little Treavor. Always in the shadow._ The Heart’s statement was soft, barely noticeable above the noise of Piero in his workshop. Garrett appeared to have had a similar sort of revelation from his own gift from the Outsider, as he raised an eyebrow, watching the figure of Pendleton leave.

Samuel was already waiting for them at the boat, above them Martin watched; Corvo suspected he was keeping an eye on Garrett, attempting to glean any information he could.

“I’ll take you to the Golden Cat when you’re ready,” Samuel said. “I’ve taken Lord Pendleton enough times, believe me,” he added with a small smirk.

“Are we always going to have to take the boat?” Garrett asked, gingerly stepping in again.

“Unless you’d rather climb over the wall and through several quarantined districts, or swim, yes,” Samuel said.

As they pulled away from the Hound Pits, Samuel spoke up again. “Did you find out why you’re here?” he asked Garrett.

“I did,” Garrett replied. “It still won’t make me like your boat, though.”

* * *

 

                                                                                               

“I’ll get you as close as I can to the Golden Cat,” Samuel said, as the boat drew near the shore again. Corvo shifted, placing the mask Piero made for him on his face once more. Garrett reached into a small pocket behind him, pulling out a metal container and a small cloth. To Corvo and Samuel’s amusement, the man started to apply kohl around his eyes, darkening the skin and masking his features.

“Full face masks would impede my sight and ability to shoot a bow,” Garrett said, upon noticing their looks. He replaced the container. “I have to compromise.” He pulled up his scarf to reinforce his point.

“It would work if we were in the dark,” Samuel conceded, prompting a glare from Garrett. “Anyway, you’ll have to get the rest of the way on your own,” he said to Corvo. “The entrance is near Holger Square.”

“The place we were in last night?” Garrett asked. Corvo saw him frown. “I _don’t_ revisit places I’ve been. It’s a rule.”

“We have no choice,” Corvo told him. “Plus, we’re not going to go into Holger Square.”

Garrett didn’t look convinced, but there was nothing Corvo could do to reassure him. At the moment, his only priority was finding Emily, Outsider’s request be damned.

“The main thing is to ensure that little girl, Emily, gets back all safe and sure.”

“That’s another thing,” Garrett added. Corvo was glad his features were masked, that way Garrett couldn’t see him roll his eyes. “Rescue missions are not my style. Last one I was hired to do was a- I don’t even know. They fainted, though. I had to drag them through a prison.”

“Anything else you’d wish to add before we leave?” Corvo asked, as the boat drew up to shore.

“The last time I was in a brothel, it caught fire.”

“I’m pretty certain that’s _not_ how you’re meant to treat the ladies,” Corvo said, hiding a smile this time. Garrett narrowed his gaze at him.

“Well, the Pendletons are most likely to be in there, so make sure it’s near them if you _do_ manage to set it on fire,” Samuel said. “There’ll be a whole lotta guards, though. Slackjaw might have an idea on how to get you inside. This here’s his territory. He and his Bottle Street gang hole up at the old Dunwall Whiskey Factory. They sell the elixir that folks use to fight off the plague.” He slowed the boat, stopping at the shore and stepping off. “I’ll lay low, but keep an eye out for you and the little lady you’re bringing back. Good luck to you. I know Emily must mean a lot to you.”

“Thanks,” Corvo said, stepping off the boat. Garrett, once again, looked a _lot_ happier to be on dry land.

“Be careful going up the street,” Samuel added. “A river-hand I know pulled up alongside me last night and said there’s one of those Watchtowers on Clavering now. I guess you gettin’ rid of Campbell really shook up the Lord Regent.”

“Good,” Corvo muttered, before bidding goodbye to Samuel and leading Garrett up the pathway. The man was silent, simply taking in the sights of the district.

Above them, the Watchtower loomed, before it suddenly whirred into action. For a moment, Corvo thought the tower had spotted them. Judging by Garrett’s reaction, he’d thought the same too. But, no, the tower instead fired on a group of people on the bridge above them; the same bridge Corvo had seen Watch officers disposing bodies from the previous night.

“Poor bastards,” he said softly, watching the small group getting fired upon.

“You people like your machines, don’t you?” Garrett asked, adjusting his scarf slightly. “I thought _my_ city was full of overzealous guards.”

 “The boldest measures are the safest,” Corvo said, quoting a sign he’d seen around the city a lot. Garrett didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t speak further.

They quickly and quietly moved up the dockside, Corvo leading the way through the cold, grey air. He wasn’t particularly happy to be back in the Distillery District again, the smell seemed worse this time around. In addition, the air felt thicker, tenser, as if Corvo’s actions the previous night had made everyone more aware that change was on the horizon. Either way, there were more guards in the area, especially around the Wall of Light in front of Clavering Boulevard, and now the Watchtower in the middle of the street.

“What does _that_ do?” Garrett asked, eyeing the contraption. It took Corvo a moment to realise that it was probably the first time he’d seen a Wall of Light.

“It’s a Wall of Light,” he began, before realising his explanation would most likely fall short. “Fire one of your arrows at it,” he said instead. “You’ll see.”

Garrett didn’t say anything, but complied, unfolding his bow and drawing an arrow from his quiver. He took careful aim, clearly watching the patrolling guards and ensuring his arrow didn’t garner their notice.

He fired, and the arrow impacted squarely with the centre of the Wall, disintegrating it in an instant. Garrett replaced his bow, raising an eyebrow as he did so. “Useful,” he commented eventually. “Extreme, but useful.”

They watched as a guard passed through the beams unharmed. “How does he not end up like the arrow?”

“When they wire them, each guard has to press their hand to the wiring device. They receive a small electric shock but the Wall then recognises them as friendly and deactivates while they pass through. In theory you could rewire it to recognise just you.”

Garrett nodded. “We’re going around it, then,” he surmised.

“Yes,” Corvo agreed. “Plus, the Bottle Street gang are nearby. Samuel’s probably right; Slackjaw _does_ know this area better. If he’s willing to help then I’ll gladly take it.”

“Who is he?” Garrett asked, as they quietly crept down the street.

_He deals in flesh, weapons, strong drink. They’ve always called him Slackjaw._ The Heart’s summary was short, but apt.

“I don’t know much about him,” he admitted. “Only what Samuel’s told me. Bottle Street gang is one of the bigger factions in the city – even bigger since the plague hit. And if they’re selling their own brand elixir and it _works,_ then presumably Slackjaw’s got a pretty big reach. Either way, this district is his for the moment.”

They reached the end of the street, at which Corvo noticed the apartment that had belonged to Granny Rags was closed, the wall beneath emblazoned with the red X signifying plague. Corvo had seen many of them since getting out of Coldridge, far more then there had been before he’d left to travel the Isles on the Empresses’ behalf.  Above them, a loudspeaker interrupted the quietness of the district with an announcement:

_“Attention Dunwall Citizens. Thaddeus Campbell – formerly High Overseer – is no longer a citizen of Dunwall. He now bears the Heretic’s Brand and by one of the oldest traditions of the Abbey of the Everyman, it is now a minor criminal offense to offer this man aid or housing. In this time of spiritual crisis, the Overseers have initiated the Feast of Painted Kettles until a new High Overseer is chosen.”_

“Painted Kettles?” Garrett asked.

“It’s tradition,” Corvo shrugged, not wanting to expand on the ins and outs of the Abbey of the Everyman. For one, they didn’t have the time. Another thing was that a man had stepped out from the alleyway in front of them.

“Hey, you’re just the man I’s lookin’ for,” he said, pointing to Corvo. “Slackjaw’s wanting to talk to you.”

Corvo raised an eyebrow. He knew his escape from Holger Square hadn’t exactly been clean but he’d kept himself from being noticed the last time he’d been in the district. He frowned for a moment, before recalling he’d actually dispatched two Bottle Street gang members for attacking the merchant down the street. He hoped they weren’t the sort to hold a grudge.

“Someone’s popular,” Garrett muttered, as they followed the man down the street, to the entrance to the distillery. His eyes darted the graffiti on the wall by the entrance; _YOU CANNOT KILL THE RAT PLAGUE._ Simple, stark, but true, Corvo was saddened to admit. Piero’s and Sokolov’s remedies had their respective strengths, but neither had achieved a true plague cure as of yet. Corvo was reminded of Garrett claiming he would be immune to the plague. He had been immune to his own city’s plague, the Gloom, because of his connection to the Primal and the stone embedded in his eye. The cause of Dunwall’s plague, however, was not supernatural, or witchcraft, it was brought by the rats. Corvo hoped that Garrett’s protection would be enough; otherwise he would most likely have to start giving him some elixir as a preventative measure.

Inside the distillery, the smell of whiskey was stronger than ever, but it was also mixed with the smell of sweat, and death. Nowhere in the city escaped that smell anymore. The gang members were arrayed about the yard. They were tense, Corvo could tell, but he wasn’t sure whether it was him, the threat of plague, or the man dressed in dark leather with a glowing eye they were most afraid of.

“You think your mask scares me?” one of the gang members challenged as Corvo and Garrett passed him. “I think it’s stupid. And what are you supposed to be?” He rounded on Garrett. “You look like a circus freak.” Garrett simply looked the man up and down, fixing him with a cold glare that was enhanced by the eerie blue glow of his eye.

_His mother’s dying words were ‘Give us a whiskey, darling,’”_ the Heart whispered, revealing that the man’s bravado was nothing more than a sham. Garrett clearly sensed it too, for he kept his stare fixed on the man until the latter backed down and looked to the floor.

The rest of the gang watched them as they progressed into the distillery. Slackjaw was in a room at the far end, surrounded by wooden kegs containing whiskey. The back room also featured an elixir still, revealing the source of the precious commodity. Corvo had heard supplies were running low, and guessed that most people in this district came to Slackjaw for their supply now. He wondered what the man charged.

“You look like a man out for murder,” Slackjaw said to him, before eyeing Garrett. “Your friend, not so much. Anyways, you look like men I might have some work for.” He paused, crossing to the front of the desk so he was stood in front of the men. Corvo found him to be less repulsive than he would have first thought, for a criminal, anyway. Corvo no longer had the luxury to put himself above such men, however. He _was_ travelling with a reputable thief, if Garrett’s words about himself were indeed true.

“Way I figure it,” Slackjaw continued, “There ain’t nobody worth killing ‘round here except those two Pendletons over at the Golden Cat.”  He was met with silence from both parties, but smiled to himself all the same. “I’m right, ain’t I? See, Slackjaw knows. Them boys are twins. Rich, mean and weird. Worse than most of their ilk. They been layin’ low there awhile. Not sure why. There’s a lotta security at the Golden Cat tonight, though,” he added. “Special guests and the like. But you’re gonna walk in there, dressed like that – _both_ of you – and kill the Pendleton brothers? Maybe I got a better way to take care of them two. If you do something for me first. Understand?”

“A favour for a favour,” Garrett clarified. Slackjaw nodded his assent.

“Someone, I don’t know who, is killing my men, taking my territory, stealing my goods. Might be a fellow, name of Galvani. I sent my best man to investigate, but he went missing and, well, now I need someone to find out what happened to him.”

Corvo was almost certain Garrett was going to make some comment on how nobody seemed to want to do their own work, but thankfully the man remained silent. Corvo was glad, if he had a way to get rid of the Pendletons – or even a different way into the Cat – it would be a lot easier without Garrett challenging the only man who was willing to aid them.

“Go to this Galvani’s place. He lives nearby, off Clavering Boulevard.“ Corvo recalled passing the residence the previous night. “You do that for me, and I’ll getcha a better way into the Golden Cat.”

Corvo gave a short nod, indicating his assent, before motioning to Garrett that they were leaving.

“On top of one rescue mission, we’re recruited for another?” Garrett asked. “You just can’t help yourself, can you?”

“If we can get into the Cat without being noticed, I’ll take anything,” Corvo replied. “If the Pendletons find out we’re coming, we don’t know what could happen to Emily. I’m not risking that.”

Garrett was silent for a moment, before he nodded his agreement. “I can understand that,” he said, as they passed through the door to the distillery and into the street.

Outside the distillery, they took a moment, looking around, before Corvo indicated the side street leading to Clavering Boulevard. Before they could move up there, Garrett reached out, stopping him from moving. He was looking intently at the building above them.

“There’s a man in the building up there,” he said quietly, head turning to the side slightly as he focused. “He’s moved, crouched, on the balcony.”

Corvo squinted above them, and after a few seconds he too spotted the man Garrett had seen.

“There’s another, across the street, on another balcony,” Garrett added. “A third further down.” He took a breath, leaning forward slightly. “They have masks, hoods. Thick coats and heavy boots.”

Corvo could only just make out the man on the balcony above them, let alone the two that were further down the street. Garrett appeared to realise this too, for when he next spoke he explained.

“The Eye,” he said. “I can see them. I can see when they walk or move, even if they pass behind a wall. At the moment they’re just overlooking the street.” He paused, as if he were listening to something. When he next spoke, Corvo got the sense he was repeating someone else’s words, not his own. “One of Daud’s assassins. They are everywhere, and nowhere.”

Corvo had the feeling that Garrett was unsettled by his newfound power. “You get used to it,” he said quietly. “The voice. Especially if it’s someone you know.”

Garrett said nothing, instead peering down the street. His eyes were intent, focused on the people Corvo couldn’t see, or perhaps he was just thinking of how to respond.

“Erin,” he said, breaking the silence. “It uses Erin’s voice.”

Corvo reflected that the Outsider did have a poor sense of humour indeed, if he’d created a device that was using the voice of someone Garrett had tried to save as his source of knowledge of this world. The first time he’d heard the Heart speak using the Empresses’ voice, in the Void, everything had stopped. He didn’t recall how long he’d sat in that lonely place, considering the ramifications of the Outsider’s ‘gift’. Garrett had had no such luxury. Still, he was coping well, and the gift was proving to be quite useful.

He carefully watched the assassin above him, colloquially known as a Whaler for their outfits – the masks and coat Garrett had described.

“What are the others doing?” he asked.

“Not looking this way,” Garrett responded, causing Corvo to smirk. He quickly blinked to the balcony behind the assassin and rendered him unconscious. He would have loved nothing more than to have killed them, and the other two, but he knew that secrecy was more important than his personal vendetta right now. He stepped out onto the balcony, where he spotted the second assassin. The assassin in question then disappeared, at which point Corvo remembered they possessed similar powers to him. Corvo was unsure as to how they’d received them – the Outsider surely couldn’t have visited each and every one of them. No, the connection had to be through Daud, their leader.

In any case, the Whaler reappeared on the rooftop opposite, before crouching and looking along the street like he had previously. Suddenly, an arrow whizzed past him, embedding itself in the stonework by his head. The assassin moved immediately, disappearing and then reappearing on the floor where the arrow had been fired from – Corvo peered over the balcony and saw Garrett had disappeared. It was disconcerting, the way the assassin moved, but Corvo surmised that was probably how anyone would feel upon witnessing the method of travel enabled to them and himself.

In any case, the Whaler was now directly below him, so it was a simple case of vaulting the balcony and plummeting down to the assassin, knocking him out as they crashed to the floor together.

“Nice,” Garrett commented, stepping out from the shadows in which he’d hidden. “The one at the end hasn’t moved,” he added. “He’s waiting.”

“Not for long,” Corvo said, before blinking to the rooftops and creeping along until he got sight of the last assassin. Thankfully, he was as easy to dispatch as his compatriots, and soon enough Corvo was back at Garrett’s side again.

“Who are they?” he asked. “Who’s Daud?”

“Daud is a myth. The legendary Knife of Dunwall,” Corvo explained. “Or he _was_ a myth,” he almost spat, six months of anger and hate almost rising to the surface. “Six months ago he killed the Empress. His Whalers kidnapped Emily.”

Garrett nodded, almost thoughtful, looking down at the unconscious bodies. “We should move on,” he said. “No sense in us being here when they wake up.”

Corvo agreed, and they carried on down the street. Upon doing so, he re-encountered Griff, the man he’d rescued from the Bottle Street thugs the previous night. The man looked none the worse for wear, offering Corvo and Garrett some supplies for a little coin.

Garrett peered at the wares, before, surprisingly offering up some coin for a small container of oil used to treat leather.

“I thought you might disapprove if I didn’t pay,” he said, stowing the bottle away. “The oil’s useful for waterproofing and your city is _wet.”_

“Actually, I was wondering where you got the money,” Corvo said.

“Oh.” Corvo got the impression that Garrett was smiling under his scarf. “I stole it from his lordship. I almost feel bad. _Almost.”_

Corvo resisted the urge to grin, instead paying Griff a small fee for a vial of Sokolov’s elixir and a blueprint that looked like it would interest Piero. If he was reading it correctly, it was an upgrade for optical sights, something that could prove useful for his mask.

They left Griff behind, and Corvo used his abilities to get them to the rooftop overlooking Galvani’s residence.

A few guards patrolled the street – more than the previous night – and one was even stood on the second-floor balcony of Galvani’s residence. Garrett unfolded his bow once more, selecting an arrow.

“As soon as this hits him, you take him out,” he said. Corvo nodded his agreement.

The arrow exploded upon hitting the floor by the man, engulfing him in a thick green smoke that had him retching and coughing. It also enabled Corvo to blink to his side and knock him out, propping him up against the railing, out of sight of the other guards on the street. Indeed, none of them appeared to have noticed his and Garrett’s co-ordinated attack, and soon Garrett had crept along the ventilation shaft and joined him on the balcony.

“Ready?” Corvo asked, placing a hand on the door handle. Garrett nodded his assent.

The inside of Galvani’s residence was clean and spacious, a stark contrast to the grimy and cluttered street outside. However, it still bore the unmistakable taint of death that the entire city now held. Thankfully, there was nobody nearby their entrance; Corvo saw Garrett looking around the area around them, including the floor and ceiling, apparently getting used to his newfound gifts.

“It’s strange,” he commented. “I can only make it work if I concentrate enough.” He took a breath, as if to steady himself, before peering up at the ceiling. “There are two guards below us,” he began, “but I don’t think we’ll need to go down there.”

Before Corvo could ask why, Garrett continued: “There are two more above us and what looks like a third lying down. I can only make out the people, but I think the one lying down is dead. Most likely Slackjaw’s man.”

“We’re going to have to check,” Corvo said. “I don’t think Slackjaw will take anything less than physical proof.”

They quietly moved up the stairs, in which Corvo got another chance to appreciate Garrett in his element. This was a man who crept around inhabited buildings for a living. While he might not approve of the lifestyle, he could appreciate the skill it took. Each movement was careful, cautious, but also quick. Garrett had clearly spent many years perfecting his art. At the top of the stairs, Garrett indicated the room in which the two guards (and what he thought was a body) were in. Corvo nodded silently, drawing his crossbow.

Two sleep darts later and they were stood over the body of the man that was clearly Slackjaw’s second. He was laid on the table, and bearing no signs Corvo could see of his apparent demise, aside from the fact the corpse was bloody. He wasn’t a physician, and neither was Garrett, who seemed more interested in the books Galvani had collected.

“He was researching the plague,” he said, scanning what looked like a journal. “Causes, connections, that sort of thing. Guess that explains the rats.”

Corvo nodded absently, frowning over the body of Crowley.

“Find anything we can take back?” Garrett asked, before reaching out and picking something off the table next to the man. He frowned at the object. “Is this a card for an audiograph player?” he asked. “These things are old in my city.”

“It is,” Corvo acknowledged, taking the card. “Might be from Slackjaw’s man. I doubt the guards would have recorded it and Galvani, whoever he is, doesn’t appear to leave these lying around.” He eyed the card, and the two guards unconscious on the floor. “We should leave, anyhow,” he said. “I think I saw a player in the distillery. And if it’s from Slackjaw’s man, no doubt he’ll want to hear it.”

* * *

 

                                                                                           

Slackjaw was waiting for them in the distillery still, conveniently stood near the audiograph player Corvo had spotted on their previous visit. He handed the card to the man, who placed it in the player. The three stood to listen.

_“Slackjaw, it’s me, Crowley. I’m makin’ this in case I don’t make it back. You was right, there is someone who wants you dead. Wants to take over the distillery – the whole Bottle Street Gang. And you’ll never believe who it is neither. At first I didn’t – that’s why it’s taken me so long. I wanted to be sure and- what’s that-?”_

The audiograph ended, but not before the three gathered had been treated to the sounds of Crowley’s death. By the sounds of it, he didn’t die well; Corvo grimaced behind his mask. Slackjaw had been still, pensively listening to the message. At its end, he turned to Corvo and Garrett.

“So, Crowley’s dead,” he said, as if commenting on the weather. “Too bad. He was one of my best men. Still,” he continued, “you and me had a deal, and Slackjaw never goes back on a deal. Take this key. It ain’t for the Golden Cat. No, this key’s for the Captain’s Chair, a hotel abandoned since the plague gutted this part o’town. Take the stairs to the top. You can use the roof to get into the Golden Cat brothel.”

He passed the key to Corvo, who inspected it for a moment. Surprisingly, the key wasn’t a forgery, as far as he could tell. Slackjaw had either been very busy looting the most likely dead hotel staff or his reach extended further in the district than Corvo had previously thought.

“See that?” Slackjaw asked, clearly proud. “Slackjaw keeps a bargain, just as good as them who run the city. Maybe a little better. You think about that. _Now_ maybe we can help each other out again.”

Corvo remained silent, but he did see Garrett raising an eyebrow beside him. Thankfully, Slackjaw didn’t notice, and continued: “ _I_ could get rid of the Pendletons for you, quiet-like and without killin’ ‘em. But you gotta do something for me in return.”

_Of course,_ Corvo thought. The prospect of eliminating the Pendleton twins without violence _was_ intriguing, however. In the long term, it could be more beneficial – his relationship with Treavor Pendleton was shaky at best, and knowing Corvo had killed his brothers would only serve to detriment his already fraying mental state. Corvo had seen the Lord wasn’t fully accustomed to the hardships of their task as of yet, and knowing that he ordered his brothers’ murder through Corvo would most likely prove to be a liability more than an aid.

“Tell me what you have in mind,” he said.

Slackjaw grinned, catlike, before explaining. “The Cat’s having a big reopening tonight. Lot of money clients, including an arts dealer name of Bunting. He’s got particular tastes, or so I’ve been told.”

“They always do,” Garrett put in. Corvo could see the task had interested him, too. He gathered the prospect of rich people to steal from would be an opportunity Garrett wouldn’t have passed up anyway.

“He’s got some pretty fancy stuff locked away at his place. And the only thing preventing me from nabbing all that loot is the combination to his safe. Of course the Pendletons have been camped out there for months too, not sure why. That means a lot of the City Watch and other soldier types.”

“You need a boxman,” Garrett spoke up. “They could do it without us getting you the combination.”

“But then, my friend, what would _you_ have to bargain with?” Slackjaw asked. “Besides, the best guy in the area couldn’t crack it, and then he died of the plague. I got no other means of cracking it.”

Garrett relented, nodding to himself.

“Bring me that combination, my masked friends, and then _I_ take care of the Pendleton brothers. Just like that. You ain’t never even gotta touch ‘em. And I promise, I won’t kill ‘em and no-one’ll ever see them again. Now if that ain’t a deal, Slackjaw don’t know what is.”

“Does he always have to speak of himself as if he’s not there?” Garrett mused as they left the distillery. Corvo suppressed a laugh.

“What’s a boxman?” he asked. Garrett looked up, surprised for a moment.

“A safecracker,” he said. “Their speciality is to rob safes without knowing the combination. My fence used to be one, but then he got married. If you go on a job to rob a safe, you either hope you find the idiot’s left the combination lying around, or you take a boxman.”

Corvo nodded to himself, and they quietly made their way towards the Golden Cat, which involved climbing over a roof near to Griff (he watched them carefully, but didn’t say anything), followed by climbing down a stack of pipes against the wall. On the last one, Corvo stopped, looking down the street.

“Weepers,” he said, somewhat sadly, watching the shuffling figures.

Garrett paused in his movements also, fixing his gaze on them. He seemed particularly repulsed by the Weeper that vomited up some kind of black sludge, as he shuddered slightly. He then peered up at the network of pipes around them.

“Up there,” he pointed. “We should see if there’s a way over them.”

Corvo silently agreed, and the pair climbed up to rooftop level, overlooking Clavering Boulevard and the streets below it. A Wall of Light blocked their path to the Cat and the hotel next to it, but Corvo easily spotted a way around it.

“We can go over,” he said, placing a hand on Garrett’s arm and blinking them to the rooftop opposite.

Garrett, after he had recovered, shook his head slightly. “Guess it really does pay to be friends with a deity.”

“I wouldn’t call the Outsider my friend,” Corvo replied, taking care not to slip on the rooftop’s surface. “There’s the Cat,” he said, pointing.

“And the hotel,” Garrett added. “I suggest we do take Slackjaw’s route. Rooftops are much less patrolled than the street.”

“I count three guards,” Corvo said, Garrett nodding his agreement. Skirting them was simple enough, time, patience, and a little of Corvo’s supernatural ability aided them in that respect, and soon they were inside the hotel, Garrett closing the door quietly behind them.

The Captain’s Chair looked as though it had seen better days. A small hotel compared to others Corvo had seen, yet in its prime it was probably quite a reputable establishment. More so than the brothel next door, anyhow. Signs of plague hovered around, a rat here or there, the inherent stench of death that lingered in fabrics and the walls.

They moved carefully up the stairs, carpet muffling their footsteps, not that there was anybody inside the condemned building with them.

“Mind for the rats,” Corvo said. “In large groups they’ll attack and strip you to the bone while alive.”

Garrett slowed at Corvo’s words, instead lingering behind him. Corvo had to suppress his laughter as he passed the man. There was a small group of rats pooled at the base of the second floor; Garrett stopped completely, drawing an arrow from his quiver, one with a larger head.

“I assume our policy on vermin is different to humans?” he asked, before drawing the bow and firing at the group of rats.

The arrow _exploded,_ setting the rats on fire and killing half almost instantly. The fire didn’t last long, however, and most of the surviving rats had scurried away to darker recesses and easier prey. The next two floors were empty, the doors to what had once been suites and rooms bricked up, most likely in an effort to combat the spread of plague – or perhaps to seal infected guests in.

The only other door that wasn’t barricaded led to the roof, where the pair took a moment to breathe in the relatively clean air outside. A pathway of sorts along the rooftop brought them to a wide open space, where Corvo got his first look of the Golden Cat bathhouse. The grounds were well-tended, spacious, clearly meant to stimulate certain notions in the heads (or other parts) of the guests. From the roof, Corvo could already see a prostitute talking to a Watch guard, he briefly wondered how long he would hold out before he found himself giving her what would most likely be his wages.

_They thought they would be working in a factory. By the time they arrive, it’s much too late._ Corvo almost detected a note of sorrow in the Heart’s statement; he too felt a pang of sympathy for the girls who worked here. However, he wasn’t naive, he knew it could be worse for them; they could be like the Weepers that roamed the street outside.

They climbed across the rooftops, reaching the main building of the brothel. The only issue Corvo could see for them on this level was a guard on a balcony nearby. Fortunately, a window above him was open, enabling Garrett and himself to simply avoid him and crawl through the opening.

Garrett blinked momentarily, becoming accustomed to his new surroundings. Corvo assumed he was looking to see how many people were inside, and whether he could see who they were here for.

“It doesn’t reach all that far,” he whispered, aware of the two guards deep in discussion with a woman below them. By listening, Corvo discovered that she was actually the madam of the brothel. By some stroke of luck, they were actually talking about the guests within the brothel, meaning that he and Garrett wouldn’t have to look in every room of the place looking for their target – a possibly awkward scenario, considering they _were_ in a brothel.

“I can see the two people in here, three courtesans below us and...” Garrett paused, frowning. “Four or five people in the next room. Two of them are, ah, close.”

Corvo allowed himself a smirk. “Can you see Emily?” he asked.

Garrett peered around them, before looking above them. “Possibly,” he said. “There are two people above us, both are female, and one is smaller than the other. I can’t tell for sure, considering I don’t actually know what she looks like.”

“The madam said Bunting was in the Silver Room,” Corvo said. “I’m going to guess it’s that way,” he pointed to a set of double doors.

It was a slow and painful wait, ensuring the guards didn’t see them as they passed through the doors, but they both managed it, ghosting across the larger room they entered into. Amusingly, one of the guards supposed to be patrolling had fallen asleep – one of the women was unsuccessfully trying to rouse him. Corvo also saw the couple whom Garrett had described as ‘close’. They were far more interested in each other than anything else happening in the room, and so Garrett and Corvo made it into the Silver Room with relative ease.

They were both silent upon entering. Corvo was mostly because he wasn’t expecting the sight he saw before him. A man – presumably Bunting, was strapped into a contraption of sorts, and blindfolded. At least Corvo or Garrett wouldn’t be indentified easily. Corvo shared a glance with Garrett, who had raised an eyebrow, regarding Bunting with an expression mingling between amusement and bemusement.

Clearly Bunting didn’t realise he was in the presence of a thief and the most wanted man in the Empire, for he spoke like he was chastising a child.

“ _Finally._ I’ve been like this for twenty minutes,” he complained. “Your footsteps sound a little loud. Have you gained a little weight, honey?”

Corvo honestly was having trouble believing the situation he’d been placed in, more so than Garrett’s appearance in his world. He shook his head slightly, earning a look from Garrett that signified that he too was processing the exact scenario with difficulty.

“Now, just like last time, understand?” Bunting continued, and Corvo had a sudden realisation of what the contraption he was strapped into _did._ “Slowly, and only trigger the shock at my command, get it? And the safe word tonight will be... ‘retribution’, let’s say. You hear that, you stop. One shock out of line, and you’re out of a job.”

Corvo had to repress his laughter at that point, but he dutifully stepped around the tethered man and reached for the lever that controlled the device. The electricity coursed through Bunting, and Corvo had a few seconds to reflect that Bunting must be a lonely person indeed if _this_ was what he spent his money on.

“Oh, that’s good,” the man cried, “shall I tell you why?”

“Please don’t,” Garrett said, barely perceptible.

“The Pendletons are here, right?” Bunting continued, “I’ll start with them. I’ve cheated them! Robbed them of thousands.”

Corvo reflected that anyone who worked at the Cat was probably privy to a _lot_ of sensitive information. He wondered if any of Havelock’s or Martin’s contacts worked here.

He cranked the lever again, prompting a greater reaction from the dealer, while behind him Garrett sighed and folded his arms, clearly tired of the theatricality of the entire situation already.

“You’re ruthless, don’t hold back! I’ll tell you everything. The Pendleton’s inheritance was worth hundreds of thousands at least. Told them it was junk.”

Along with his weird fetish for electricity, Bunting was clearly a man who enjoyed swindling others out of coin, even if it were prominent members of Parliament under the Lord Regent’s thumb. _Perhaps that only makes it more exciting,_ he thought.

The third time he reached for the lever, Corvo was glad the occupants of the brothel were used to the sort of noise Bunting made.

“Retribution, retribution!” he all-but shouted. Corvo was silently disappointed in the man’s endurance. “That was perfect, but it’s all I can take for toni-“

He was about to continue, when Garrett reached past Corvo and pulled the lever again. Corvo saw something akin to satisfaction in his eyes as he watched Bunting get shocked again.

“We’re _done,_ I said, _retribution!”_ Bunting practically wailed. “Now let me out.”

“Pathetic,” Garrett muttered, pulling the lever once more.

Whatever Bunting had gotten out of this kind of device before clearly wasn’t doing anything for him now. He pulled against his bonds, attempting to see his would-be torturers through the blindfold.

“What the-? Who _is_ this? What do you want?” Bunting asked.

“Your safe code,” Garrett said simply. Corvo had the impression he was trying to hide his amusement. 

As soon as Bunting realised what was going on, he sobered instantly.

“The safe, yes of course,” he almost pleaded. “The combination is 138.”

Corvo thought Garrett almost looked disappointed that he’d not had to work harder to get the combination.

“Take anything you find,” Bunting continued. “I think I felt my heart skip.”

“ _Please,”_ Garrett muttered, reaching for the lever a final time. He and Corvo headed to the door while Bunting received his final shock.

“So,” Corvo began, a grin forming behind his mask. “Was it good for you too?”

Garrett scowled, before carefully peering through the door. “It’s clear,” he said.

They crept back out into the hallway, finding the shadowy recess near the ceiling they’d first entered the brothel in.

“The only place I can think of to keep a child would be the upstairs rooms,” Garrett said. “Out of sight of the public, and she’d have a tough time trying to get out. Downstairs is nothing but... rooms for acquired tastes,” he said. He peered at the ceiling. “Now I look up there, I’m sure one of the people on the top floor is a child. They’re sitting, so I can’t be sure. Does your Emily wear white?”

Corvo nodded, recalling the outfit Emily had worn six months ago.

“Then it’s probably her,” Garrett concluded. “I don’t think we’ve got any other business here. I can’t feel anything connected to the stone, anyhow. And I don’t think this one is built on an ancient archive.”

In their search for Emily, Corvo had almost forgotten the ultimate reason for Garrett being by his side.

“How do you know where the stone would be?” he asked.

“I’d probably get a headache,” Garrett shrugged.

They crept up the back stairs towards the room Garrett thought he had located Emily in, the only issue being a woman in the next room cleaning. Corvo quickly crept up behind her and rendered her unconscious – recalling Emily’s boisterous nature he couldn’t risk her inadvertently raising the alarm. He felt a pang of sympathy as he did so, knowing the girl would most likely face repercussions, but he knew he was unable to do anything for her other than spare her life.

Upon opening the door, Corvo was greeted with a sight he’d been unsure he’d ever see again. Emily was sat on the floor, legs drawn up against her chest. She looked thinner, tired, but otherwise physically seemed all right. She also seemed older, as if the weight of her mother’s death had added years to her life. They probably had, Corvo reasoned. Witnessing the death of someone you loved was not easy, it was probably even harder for Emily, considering what had happened to her after.

Emily, for her part, stood up. Her voice was questioning, and slightly defiant. Corvo was reminded of her mother instantly.

“Who are you? Why are you wearing that mask?”

Motioning to Garrett to keep a lookout on the door, Corvo stepped forward, crouching and removing his mask, so she could see his face. He smiled, his first real smile in six months, as Emily recognised him.

“Corvo?” she asked, before she actually did realise it was him, and ran towards him. “Corvo, it’s you!” He swept her into a hug, glad that he was able to restore this one part of his life. It was like some part of him that he’d not known was missing had been finally restored. And while the gap was still there, he knew _that_ one would never be filled. But this, this was enough.

“You’re wearing that mask to sneak around, aren’t you?” she asked, before continuing without waiting for an answer. “They told me you were- you were- head chopped off, in the prison. Dead. Like mother.” She was quiet for a moment. “That seems like a long time ago.”

Behind him, Garrett coughed, drawing Corvo’s attention.

“We shouldn’t linger long,” he said, adjusting his scarf slightly, before he peered down at the floor. “Someone will find the art dealer soon.”

“Who’s your friend?” Emily asked, staring at the strangely-dressed figure of Garrett.

“This is Garrett,” Corvo told her. “He’s a friend. Garrett, this is Emily.”

Garrett didn’t make a remark; he seemed to realise how important Emily was to him. Instead, he nodded to the girl. Corvo didn’t think Garrett would be a man who would show anything akin to deference to Emily, but he clearly recognised this girl was of higher status than him.

“There’s a special door to come and go,” Emily said, “for special people. I’ll show you. And if anyone tries to stop us, you can fight them.”

Before either Corvo or Garrett could stop her, she had broken into a run, heading away from the room and toward the back stairs.

“ _Really?”_ Garrett asked, as they jogged to keep up, Corvo replacing his mask as they did so. Thankfully, they didn’t meet anybody on the route Emily took them on, which was down the back stairs and out into a small backyard.  She stopped at a door.

“It’s locked,” she lamented, futilely trying the handle. “Prudence, the old hag. She caught me trying to get away. Now she keeps the key with her. You’ve got the find the key so we can leave.”

“No we don’t,” Garrett said from behind them. He stepped up to the door, crouching and removing a pair of items from hidden compartments on his wrists. They were thin, metallic, but other than that Corvo had no idea what they were meant for.

“What are you doing?” he asked, as Garrett inserted the devices into the lock, carefully manipulating them.

“Please tell me you’ve heard of lockpicks,” Garrett muttered, peering at the lock. He turned one of the instruments slowly, carefully; he was clearly well-practised.

Corvo had heard of such devices, but he’d never heard of any having _worked._ If someone ever got their hands on what looked like the simple tools Garrett carried, they’d be worth a fortune.

“They... they don’t exist,” he admitted to the shorter man, who actually paused in his work to stare at Corvo in disbelief. “Nobody’s ever made them work before.”

“Which probably explains why this is only a three-pin lock,” Garrett said, before sharply turning the devices and opening the door.

Even Emily gasped. Corvo was sure Garrett was smirking behind his scarf.

“Not a word,” he said to the man as they passed through the doorway.

Outside, they found themselves in a covered over tunnel, but Corvo recognised the Weeper-infested street beyond it. He also recognised Granny Rags prowling nearby – clearly she’d made a home here after leaving her apartment. Garrett seemed particularly interested in her too, for he watched her carefully.

“You take Emily back to the boat,” he said to Corvo. “I’ll give the combination to Slackjaw.”

Corvo was about to protest, but Garrett raised a hand. “I’ll be fine,” he said. “I made a living of this before I met you, you know. I’ve got my own tricks. Plus, you’re her _Lord Protector,”_ he emphasised the words, clearly not out of reverence for the title, but the opposite. “She needs you to do _your_ job.”

Corvo sighed, before he agreed. “Fine,” he said. “We’ll wait for thirty minutes, however. If you’re not back by then I’m coming to find you myself.”

“I didn’t know you cared,” Garrett said, heading out into the street, carefully skirting the Weepers that were there.

“He’s strange,” Emily said, and Corvo smiled.

“He is,” he agreed, before holding out his hand for her to take. “Come. We need to get back to Samuel and the boat. I think you’ll like Samuel.”

He carefully led her through the series of backstreets, making sure they avoided the Weepers and guards alike. It wouldn’t do for the Masked Felon to be seen with the Empress’ daughter, after all. What he _did_ notice was that the small group of Whalers he and Garrett had disposed of on Bottle Street had gone. He also didn’t see Garrett on his way back to Samuel, but the man was capable enough to not be seen by guards, he was sure of that.

Samuel was still waiting for them, and he rose when Corvo returned with Emily.

He gave a short bow. “I’m glad Corvo found you, my lady,” he said. “We can all rest easy knowing you’re safe. I’m Samuel,” he said to her. “Corvo, you must have worked wonders out in the city tonight. I can’t believe my old eyes.”

“Thank you, Samuel,” Corvo said, slightly humbled by the man’s praise. Emily greeted him, before climbing into the boat and sitting down.

“Where’s Garrett?” Samuel asked, although if Corvo were honest, the man didn’t sound too concerned.

“He had business to take care of,” Corvo told him. “I said we’d wait thirty minutes.”

* * *

 

                                                             

Thirty minutes later, with no sign of Garrett, Corvo was about to head back into the district and search for the missing thief. Before he could do anything, however, a shadow appeared at the far end of the path. It crept towards them, before finally revealing itself to be Garrett. Except now he carried a small bag with him.

“You _robbed_ the dealer?” Corvo questioned, suddenly seeing why Garrett had wanted to take the combination to Slackjaw.

“What, and you wouldn’t have?” the man asked, carefully climbing into the boat next to Emily, placing the bag on his lap. “He asked for the combination, and I gave it to him, and he’s getting rid of your _problems,”_ he emphasised the last word, clearly knowing that the sort of discussion wasn’t appropriate in front of a child. “He never said about whether the safe should be empty or not. I left the paintings, anyway,” he added. “Not that they were decent paintings.”

Corvo was about to argue, before realising this was probably a battle he wasn’t going to win. Instead, he sighed, taking his place in the boat and signalling to Samuel that it was high time they left the place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Eye, if you're confused, essentially works a lot like Corvo's "Dark Vision" power, which I've neglected giving to him. It has a few extra enhancements, of course - it can see a bit further and "into people"; essentially working like The Heart, albeit with Erin's voice.
> 
> Uhh, I can't think of anything else to add here, other than that I hope you enjoyed it!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’re ‘wanted for possible heresy and escaping Overseer custody’,” he said.   
> Garrett frowned. “Heresy? They couldn’t think of anything better than heresy?” He almost sounded disappointed.  
> “I won’t tell you how much coin you’re worth then,” Corvo replied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quicker update this time! I'm glad everyone is still liking this.  
> As ever, thanks to the Taffers for their help! Extra mention goes to Coyote this time, known on here as jacknall, for their help on the "crisis of faith" scenes. You should totally check out their work too, while you're at it.

“What’s wrong with your eye?”

Corvo could tell Garrett was regretting his choice in sitting next to Emily. Ever since leaving the shore she’d pestered him with questions, where he was from, how he knew Corvo, and what a _strange_ outfit he had.

“I looked directly into the sun as a child,” Garrett replied, somewhat distracted, shifting on his seat slightly.

“What’s in your bag?” Emily continued questioning, clearly not perturbed. Garrett didn’t seem willing to discuss _that_ subject either, for he looked at Corvo like it was _his_ fault she’d asked.

Fortunately, he was rescued, as Samuel pointed up the river.

“Look,” he called. “They’re bringing in another whale.”

Corvo looked up, spotting the large whaling ship bringing in its latest haul, a whale of quite large size, chained to the deck. Emily seemed to be in awe of the massive creature, for she fell silent, watching it. Garrett, on the other hand, looked like he was about to be sick.

“Whales?” he asked. “What do you use those for?”

“Power.” Surprisingly, it was Emily who spoke, sounding pleased that she’d remembered her studies. “Whale oil provides all the technological innovations for Dunwall. If we hadn’t discovered it, we wouldn’t be the ruler of a great industrial empire.”

Garrett didn’t seem convinced. His gaze was fixed on the whale, which was still alive, Corvo noticed. The man seemed to have trouble processing that everything that made Dunwall and the Empire great came from the great leviathans of the deep ocean. He wondered if things were different were Garrett came from; perhaps that was why he was so unsettled.

_They are burning the whales._ The Heart seemed neither sad nor happy about the fact, it just stated what was.

“What do you do with them?” Garrett asked.

“Harvest their oil, use it to power- well, just about everything,” Corvo said. “Did you not see the containers of oil?” he asked.

“I did,” Garrett admitted, “but I didn’t know what was inside them.”

He looked away from the whale, instead fixing his gaze on the bottom of the boat.

“I heard there was some trouble at the Rothwild Slaughterhouse,” Samuel said. “Bundry Rothwild went missing, or something. I wonder where they’ll take that one.”

“There’s more than one slaughterhouse in Dunwall,” Corvo said, earning a nod of agreement from Samuel and an almost imperceptible shudder from Garrett.

“At least this explains why you’re all so obsessed with whales,” he mumbled, causing Corvo to smile.

Samuel also clearly saw Garrett was having trouble processing the notion of whale oil harvesting, for he changed the subject.

“You got the business done, then?” he asked. “I’m not one to speak of my betters, mind you, but if anybody ever deserved their fate it was those Pendletons.”

“We’ll see,” Garrett said, even quieter than before, like he knew something Corvo didn’t. Perhaps Slackjaw had told him his plans for the twins; he made a note to ask the thief once they got back to the Hound Pits. As if on cue, Samuel rounded a bend in the Wrenhaven, and the tower came into Corvo’s view. He smiled softly to see his new home once again.

“What business are you talking about?” Emily asked.

Samuel seemed at a loss for words for a moment, before he spoke again. “Grown up business, girl,” he began, and then remembered who exactly he was addressing. “I mean your ladyship. Forgive me.”

Emily didn’t particularly seem concerned. “It’s okay,” she almost laughed. “I heard a lot of grown up business at the Golden Cat.”

At _that_ statement, even Garrett looked up, sharing a look with Corvo which suggested amusement. Corvo narrowed his eyes, as if daring the man to make some snide comment. Fortunately, he didn’t.

“I should concentrate on piloting this boat,” Samuel said. Corvo saw Garrett had to bite his lip at that point.

Mercifully, they had arrived back at the Hound Pits, where Emily eagerly leaned over the side of the boat to see the shore. Garrett, sat next to her, didn’t look so eager, especially with the way the boat tilted.

Corvo disembarked first, before offering his hand to Emily, hoping to provide some sense of normality from before. Or, that was what he told himself as Emily took his hand and allowed herself to be led to where Callista, Lydia and Wallace were waiting. No matter what Corvo did, the steps he took in order to restore order to Dunwall and give Emily her throne, the normality from before was gone. It disappeared with the Empress’ life.

Still, now was not the time for such dark thoughts.

Callista addressed Emily, and although she was nervous talking to the future Empress, she hid it well. She even offered to give her a tour, but not before showing Emily the tower in which they would reside. Only accessible from one point, and that point being a window in Corvo’s room, it was probably the safest place in the entire Hound Pits.

“I think I’ll like it here,” Emily said, before turning back. “I’ll go with Callista, Corvo.”

As Corvo bade her farewell, Havelock approached, only pausing to bow as Emily and her small entourage passed.

“You do not fail to impress,” Havelock said to him, reaching out to shake his hand. “Armed with a blade, you’ve changed the course of this city forever.”

Behind him, Garrett coughed. “Are you going to shake _my_ hand too?” he asked.

“He _was_ the one who actually finalised getting rid of the Pendletons,” Corvo admitted, much more for Havelock’s discomfort than anything else. Havelock was at a loss for words for a moment, before he set his jaw and held his hand out for Garrett.

Havelock’s hand dwarfed Garrett’s slender one, but the pair shook hands without comment. For a moment, Corvo had a sudden hope that perhaps the two would get on after all.

“I expect you’ll want to check it for plague now,” Garrett said, retracting his hand. “I’ll understand.”

The hope _had_ only lasted for a moment after all.

Havelock was clearly reaching the end of his tether concerning the thief, for he turned back to Corvo. “With the Pendleton twins gone, our own Lord Pendleton will assume their votes in Parliament,” he informed them. “In one night, you _both_ ,” he emphasised the second word with a look to Garrett, “have done more than most men do in a lifetime.”

He paused for a moment. “I need to speak to you soon, but for now Lord Pendleton requests your attention.”

As Havelock moved away, Garrett turned to Corvo. “I need to speak to you about that,” he said. His tone was serious, cold, like a man who had done a _lot_ of thinking in the boat trip back to the Hound Pits.

“Do you know what Slackjaw told me when I gave him the combination?” Garrett asked, once they had moved away. “He told me that he was going to put the Pendletons to work in their own silver mines. Shave their heads, cut their tongues. That, eventually, they would die from being worked to death.”

Corvo was about to respond, but Garrett held up his hand. “I’m under no illusions about what you have to do here, or what those two men were like. I understand your mission. What I _don’t_ understand is your justification for this. When we left the Overseers, you said your Empress championed justice. That, in casting out Campbell, you were doing just that.”

Garrett sighed, looking away for a moment. Corvo, for his part, didn’t speak, waiting for Garrett to finish.

“I abhor cruelty, or unnecessary death,” he said, almost as if he were explaining himself. “When I saw that whale earlier, I-“ he broke off for a moment. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I’m just trying to understand this place. I’m a thief, I operate on the wrong side of the law, but I _do_ understand it. I understand justice. What you’re doing, is- is it _truly_ justice?”

Corvo could see this set of questions had eaten at Garrett for a while, most likely ever since he’d seen him press the brand to Campbell’s face and sealed his fate. Corvo had tried not to think of what had become of him, and neither would he relish spending any time thinking of what happened to the Pendletons.

“You’re right,” he said eventually, voicing his fears somewhat. “I can call it justice all I want, but it isn’t really. I’m exacting my revenge on the orders of someone else. Did you know Campbell ordered my torture in Coldridge?” he asked, rolling up his sleeve and showing Garrett the neat line of burn marks the torturer had left on his arm. “They were trying to get me to confess to the Empress’ murder. Funny, considering _they_ were the ones who ordered it. I had a long time to consider _that_ irony.”

He looked away for a moment, lost in dark thoughts and memories of that dank place. He’d decided not to tell Emily of the things he’d suffered in there for her name; for her mother’s name. He rolled his sleeve down, facing Garrett again, who was watching him with an inscrutable expression.

“Havelock and the Loyalists are giving me the targets, but _I’m_ the one who has to deal with them,” he said. “And justice just doesn’t factor in to this. I’m doing it in the name of Jessamine, but at times even I wonder if I act in her honour. Tell me this, though,” he said. “If you were the one to hold the blade, could you _truly_ kill them? Could you have killed the Pendleton twins in the Cat earlier?”

Garrett didn’t say anything, but from his expression and earlier words, Corvo knew that he would have been unable to.

“I _can’t_ think that way,” Corvo continued. “Not while things are as they are. If I spend all my time wondering whether putting a blade in Campbell’s – and the Pendleton’s – necks is better than what I’ve decided for them instead, I’d lose my mind.

“When you searched for Erin, an entire city fell down around you and you did nothing to stop it. Well, my city _is_ falling down and I’m doing my _damndest_ to stop it. If some men die of something other than the plague, so be it,” he finished. “But I’m giving them far more than they deserve in letting them live as long as they do.”

It was a low blow, bringing up Erin, and Garrett’s expression confirmed it to be so. Corvo knew any offer of solace or comfort would be turned away, as well as prove ineffective. Garrett knew his failings, as Corvo knew his own. They could only try to lessen the damage.

“Let’s go find Pendleton,” he said eventually, turning and heading up the steps. He could hear Garrett’s light tread behind him, and while the man hadn’t said anything Corvo was glad he followed still. Strangely, he’d grown rather accustomed to having two shadows.

Pendleton was stood under the tower, gazing out across the river to the city. The sun was sinking low on the horizon, tingeing the sky with reds and yellows, while once again resolutely turning the river’s colour brown. Corvo could see why Pendleton had chosen here to look out onto the city; you could pretend that nothing was wrong.

Upon noticing their arrival, Pendleton turned to face them.

“Corvo,” he began, notably leaving Garrett out of the conversation – the man didn’t appear to notice, stepping past Pendleton and gazing out across the river. “The Loyalist Conspiracy thanks you for your work. I don’t know if I can. My own brothers...”

Behind Pendleton, Corvo saw Garrett’s hand clench into a fist, but he didn’t speak.

“We never believed that you killed the Empress,” Pendleton told him. “It made much more sense that the Royal Spymaster, now the Lord Regent, was behind it, aided by some of his key allies. We spent a lot of money and exposed ourselves to great risk in getting you out of prison. But we did it because we believe that you’re the one that can make the difference.” He turned to walk away, before pausing for a moment. “Oh, and Havelock’s looking for you.”

_For one so steeped in courtly matters, his thoughts do linger long on revenge and murder._

Corvo reflected that the Heart’s timing with _that_ snippet of information could have been better, considering what he’d just done to Pendleton’s brothers.

“You go talk to the admiral,” Garrett said, still looking across the river. “I need to sort through this,” he held up the bag he held loosely in his left hand. “I’ll meet you back in your room.”

Corvo decided that it was probably best he left Garrett alone, especially considering the subject of their last conversation. He was clearly in deep thought, for he’d barely paid attention to the bag of loot since he’d gotten in the boat.

Havelock was in the bar area with Martin, the pair were sat in one of the booths by the window.

“Where’s your friend?” Martin asked as Corvo approached the table.

“He had some affairs to sort out,” Corvo said simply. He didn’t think it would be wise informing them that the professional thief had looted quite a prominent person’s abode today. Or that he was now considering the full ramifications of what the Loyalists were doing.

“Indeed,” Martin said. Corvo noticed that Havelock looked more relieved now that Corvo was on his own.

“Alright, my friend,” he began. “Martin’s devised our next move. There’s a footnote in Campbell’s journal that tells us the Lord Regent’s mistress sat for a portrait with Sokolov, the painter and Royal Physician. He’ll be able to give us her name.”

Corvo had dealt with Sokolov many times before. Originally from Tyvia, he too was regarded with mild distaste by the rest of Court, although Corvo’s abilities as Royal Protector had meant that not often did people comment on his own Serkonan heritage. He also recalled that Jessamine had seen that Sokolov hadn’t been particularly fond of the nobility in Dunwall either, but had granted him a lot of freedom anyway. He briefly wondered if Sokolov had been involved in the plot to murder her, before discounting it entirely; he’d most likely lost more in her death than he would have ever gained, and his distrust of nobles meant that he would never have willingly gone along with Burrows’ plans.

“Sokolov lives on Kaldwin’s Bridge about half the time, out over the river,” Havelock continued. “The catch is that I’m afraid you’ve got to head out right away, while Sokolov is at his apartment on the Bridge. Samuel can get you close to the Bridge, but you’ll have to find Sokolov. Bring him back here, intact, and it’ll enable us to make our next move.”

Corvo had a moment to wonder what the rest of the Loyalists did while he and Garrett were out doing the dirty work for their cause. Their plans relied on Corvo’s success, after all.

“I can’t believe what you’ve done so far, escaping from Coldridge, taking down the High Overseer, recovering Emily. You make this old military man proud.”

Corvo could have done without the final praise, but he supposed Havelock felt like it was necessary.

“I’ll go find Garrett,” he said, “tell him we’re leaving.”

“He’s going with you?” Martin asked.

“Of course,” Corvo replied. “He’s good at what he does. He’s _better_ when it’s dark, and, frankly, I don’t trust to leave him here with you.” He gave the pair a curt smile, before heading out of the bar and climbing to the stairs to his room.

Garrett was sat on his mattress, carefully arranging the items he’d taken from Bunting’s apartment. Corvo spied a piece of paper that looked like an invitation, of all things, paired with a finely crafted mask that looked like a bird’s beak. There was also a tiny whale statuette, inlaid with blue jewels. Other than that, the rest of the loot looked commonplace; a jar of medicinal herbs and two vials of Piero’s Remedy for plague.

“ _This_ was in the safe too,” Garrett said, reaching into the bag and pulling out an item. “I think you’ll find it more useful than I will.”

Surprisingly, it was a rune. The mark on it – identical to the one on Corvo’s hand – glowed briefly as he took it.

“Bunting had strange tastes indeed,” he remarked, as the rune’s power dissipated, the object simply becoming an inert piece of whalebone once more. He looked at it for a few seconds more, before placing it onto the table.

“I should apologise,” he began, somewhat awkwardly. “For what I said before. I- there’s no excuse. I brought up things I shouldn’t in order to make a point.”

“You were right,” Garrett said, much to his surprise. The man stood, carefully placing his stolen loot by the side of his mattress. Corvo wondered if it was to provide a sense of normality to him; it was similar to his display in the clock tower, if not as substantial. “I did let my city fall around me.”

He laughed softly to himself. “There’s a woman in my city called the Queen of Beggars. I wouldn’t call her a friend, and there are some who say she’s as old as the city. She visited me, before the end, or whatever you want to call it, and she said that the Primal had tried to talk to me, and I had ignored it. I had ignored Erin. I’d refused to take the responsibility she had placed on me, right up until I had all three pieces of the stone in my hands. And she was right. So were you. What you – what _we’re –_ doing here is to save a city, and I’m part of that. I won’t ignore the warnings this time, even if it means I have to face some bad choices.”

The pair was silent for a moment, before Corvo spoke up again, rapidly changing the subject.

“We need to head out again,” he said. “We need to kidnap a physician and it can’t wait.”

“Is that why they took your mattress?” Garrett asked, nodding to the empty space on the bed. Corvo hadn’t noticed it when he’d entered the room. He assumed the mattress had been taken to stop the possibility of plague, they had been to districts that had carried infected, after all, and they were _living_ inside the quarantine.

“I’d put your things somewhere else in case they take yours too,” he warned. In the end, Garrett placed his loot on top of one of the beams in the room, out of sight of anyone on the floor.

“Why are you keeping the invitation?” Corvo asked.

“I might get some time off. It’ll be an easy way in if I have an invite to a party full of rich nobles.” Corvo caught Garrett smiling slightly, and sighed.

“We’re on a secret mission to restore the throne and you’re planning to rob a party?”

                                                                                               

* * *

 

“So who is this physician?” Garrett asked as Samuel took them along the Wrenhaven. “The name seems familiar.”

“Sokolov is the head of the Academy of Natural Philosophy,” Corvo explained. “As well as that, he’s a painter and royal physician.”

“A painter?” Garrett asked, before frowning. “I think I saw one of his in Bunting’s safe. Not bad, but not exactly the best I’ve seen,” he added. “Could sell well, though.”

“Right,” Corvo said. “Well, he’s the man Piero is keen to subvert at any chance he gets, and he’s also the one who created most of the city’s defences. His apartment might prove difficult to get in to.”

“If the lock on the door’s anything like the one in the Golden Cat, I think we’ll be fine,” Garrett muttered, retrieving the small pot of kohl he kept on him and applying some to his eyes again. Corvo wondered if it was some ritual of his before a job.

“What do you think?” Samuel asked, as they passed under an arch. “Kaldwin’s Bridge. You’ve been in the city for years, Corvo, but you lived in Dunwall Tower with the late Empress, and Garrett here has barely been inside a single district, so you’ve probably not visited Kaldwin’s Bridge before tonight.”

“Last time I was on a bridge like this, it caught fire and collapsed,” Garrett said.

“Is there _anywhere_ that doesn’t catch fire near you?” Corvo asked. “I’ve half a mind to leave you in the boat.”

“Something to look out for,” Samuel warned, cutting off Garrett’s response. “See them lights in the water? We’ll be spotted for sure. You’re gonna have to shut of their power before I can pick you up.”

“They shouldn’t be a problem,” Corvo said.

“Now about bringing Sokolov back alive,” Samuel continued. “He’s smart. Maybe even smarter than Piero. Got the whole of Dunwall under his thumb with all that natural philosophy business. New technology, potions and the like. Seems dangerous to me, but what do I know?” he asked as he stopped the boat at the base of the bridge.

“Probably more than most of the city,” Garrett said as they disembarked. Samuel gave a small chuckle.

“I’ll meet you both at the arches under Sokolov’s place. Assuming you’ve turned the lights off, of course.”

After bidding their farewells to Samuel, the pair carefully mounted the steps towards street level, wary of any patrolling guards.

_“Citizens and visitors to our city, by order of the Regent, the curfew is now active. No foot traffic allowed across Kaldwin’s Bridge until curfew is lifted. Attention all citizens: No pedestrian movement is allowed along Kaldwin’s Bridge during this period. Curfew will end tomorrow morning, at sunrise.”_

The announcement rang out above them, and Garrett smirked.

“My kind of challenge,” he said, pulling up his scarf.

The bridge was already heavily patrolled, and Corvo also spied an alarm system. If they were spotted it would be activated, and no doubt draw a lot more guards to their position. Interestingly, Corvo also spotted a few posters near the guard post, one for a masked felon wanted in connection with the disappearance of the Pendletons. He was under no illusions it was for him, there was even a picture of his mask – no doubt provided by the Overseer Garrett had knocked out. Burrows had clearly seen the connection between Campbell’s branding and the loss of Emily and the twins. In addition, there was another poster for a “masked miscreant”, which he pointed out to Garrett.

“Looks like they got a good sketch of your face in the Overseer base,” he whispered. “You’re ‘wanted for possible heresy and escaping Overseer custody’,” he added.

Garrett frowned. “Heresy? They couldn’t think of anything better than heresy?” He almost sounded disappointed.

“I won’t tell you how much coin you’re worth then,” Corvo replied, seeing it was a mere five thousand coins.

Garrett snorted, before indicating a chain to their right. “If we swing across here, we can get to those stairs and up to rooftop level using the vent,” he said.

The chain creaked slightly as they moved across it, but it didn’t alert the guards, who were busy discussion appropriate measures of punishment for those breaking curfew. Over the past six months the punishments had gotten worse, the Watch reflecting the decay of society around it.

They halted behind a sign, which shielded them from any guard who would be curious enough to look up (Corvo had yet to see one), peering around at the group below.

“The main door is blocked,” Corvo noted aloud, Garrett nodding. He was watching the guards carefully, following the patrolling ones with his keen gaze.

“There’s another door over there,” he said eventually, indicating further along the bridge.

“You can see it?” Corvo asked, wondering if the Outsider’s gift was now more giving.

“No, I just watched the guards’ patrols,” Garrett said, as if it was the simplest thing in the world. He regarded Corvo for a moment. “I forgot a lot of this is new for you. You’re doing quite well,” he added. “Anyway, they patrol in regular intervals, except for _that_ guard over there,” he indicated the man. “He has no reason to go to that ledge and look out on the river, unless he were guarding a door or checking the side of the bridge for people scaling it. The bridge isn’t exactly the easiest to climb, so it makes more sense that there’s a door there.”

Corvo was silent for a moment, fathoming Garrett’s words, before realising he was probably right. He _did_ have a lot more experience at this sort of thing, after all.

“Well,” he began, “that means he’s the only thing standing in our way, really.”

Garrett nodded his agreement. He crept along the vent, keeping low and watching the guards carefully. Corvo followed behind, and soon they were crouched behind another sign.

“Think you can take him out without any of the others seeing?” Garrett asked, as the guard approached the railing.

With a quick glance to the patrolling guards, Corvo blinked behind the man, rendering him unconscious and dragging him to a nearby trash bin. A trash bin that happened to be situated by a door; he scowled at it as he deposited the man inside the bin. Garrett, meanwhile, had edged his way down to Corvo’s side, apparently even going as far to walk across the small hut a guard was stood in.

Corvo got the sense that Garrett was smirking as he opened the door, before stepping aside. “After you,” he said.

“Don’t push it,” Corvo muttered, passing through. They came to a set of stairs, which they swiftly climbed. The room they were in looked as though it was one where transports across the bridge were made – a small monorail system featured with a door that opened onto the causeway. Garrett peered through the railings.

“Looks like we might be able to skirt an entire patrol if we use this,” he said. “It needs power, though,” he said.

“Up there,” Corvo pointed to the canisters of whale oil, their faint glow reflecting off the metal catwalk. Garrett frowned at them, but made no comment; he was probably recalling where the oil actually came from. Corvo quickly blinked to them, gently picking up one of the canisters. Thankfully, his powers didn’t affect the substance too much, and he gingerly placed it inside the receptacle.

“The oil’s volatile,” he said, by way of explanation, as the system powered up and the gate opened with a loud rattle.

By reflex, both he and Garrett stepped back into the shadows, in case a guard happened to look up at their position. After a few seconds, Garrett stepped forward again. “I don’t think they noticed,” he said. “They might notice if we use this more than once, though,” he added.

“The Golden Cat really _did_ do a number on you, didn’t it?” Corvo asked, raising an eyebrow behind his mask. He climbed into the bucket, noticing Garrett’s sour look as he joined him. Thankfully, it wasn’t too uncomfortable. Garrett’s small stature meant that it was unlikely to be cramped.

“Ready?” Corvo asked, before reaching out and pulling the lever.

Crouched in the bucket, Corvo couldn’t see if any of the guards were paying attention to their movement across the causeway. Garrett appeared to be keeping an eye on them, however. That or he was just staring at the floor in order to not look at Corvo. Either way, the cart soon stopped moving, and they cautiously climbed out onto the catwalk, ducking behind a stack of boxes to hide from the guards.

“That way,” Corvo said, indicating the door that led further out onto the bridge. Normally the passage would have been open, but the curfew negated the possibility of anybody needing to travel across the bridge. Carefully watching the guards, both he and Garrett skirted the patrolling guards and into a tunnel-like section which would take them to Drawbridge Way.

The courtyard was less patrolled than the previous one; Corvo spotted a single guard talking to a homeowner. The man – named Pratchett – apparently needed to be educated on why the Watch was needed, _especially_ in times like this. From what Corvo had seen of the Watch of the past week (and the ease in which he’d skirted a lot of them), he could see why Pratchett might have been worried. Further down the street, a dog patrolled – one of the wolfhounds commonly used by Overseers. Corvo didn’t spot an Overseer, however, and considering they were still dealing with Campbell’s deposition, it was unlikely an Overseer was around.

The pair crouched behind a barricade, out of sight of the dog, and listened to the conversation between Pratchett and the guard. It seemed that Pratchett was finding a way to survive in the tough times. The guard seemed to agree, especially considering the amount of items that apparently travelled through Sokolov’s place.

Eventually, the pair moved off, and Garrett peered out from behind the barricade to watch the guard leave.

“I can get us to his balcony,” Corvo said, nodding to Pratchett’s house.

“You know,” Garrett began once they were stood on the balcony. “With you around I wonder why I even carry all my equipment. You negate about half of it.”

“It pays to be prepared, surely?” Corvo asked.

“I didn’t say I was going to stop bringing it,” Garrett replied, carefully opening the door to Pratchett’s house.

They entered quietly, acutely aware of the resident on the floor below, before Garrett motioned he was climbing the stairs and that Corvo should hold back. There wasn’t room for him to get behind the man without being unseen, and he wasn’t particularly thrilled with the notion of going back outside and re-entering the house from below in case the guard – or the wolfhound – were near.

Garrett stood behind the door, and Pratchett had a split-second to look at Corvo upon entering the room before Garrett’s blackjack impacted on the back of his head and knocked him out.

“What was that you were saying about your equipment?” Corvo asked as they dragged him to a nearby chair, propping him up.

“Like you wouldn’t have been able to improvise,” Garrett retorted.

They slowly climbed the stairs, Garrett taking a keen interest in their surroundings as they did so. When they reached the top floor, he stopped, eyeing the safe in Pratchett’s room.

“It’s not like you know the combination,” Corvo told him. “We can’t wait around for Pratchett to wake up so you can interrogate him for it.”

“No,” Garrett agreed, stepping over to a desk and reading a scrawled note. “But we might not have to. Remember what I said earlier about safecracking?”

“You either need a boxman or hope the owner’s an idiot.”

“Lucky for us, Pratchett’s an idiot,” Garrett said, skilfully spinning the dials on the safe. With a faint creaking sound, it opened, revealing its contents to the pair. Corvo had to try not to gape as Garrett examined its contents.

“Ingots, very nice,” he said, carefully removing one and examining it. “I’ll only have to take one,” he added, somewhat mournfully. “Too heavy otherwise.” He cast a look at Corvo.

“No.”

Garrett sighed. “Fine,” he muttered.

“How did you know the combination?” Corvo asked, still wondering how Garrett had managed it on the first try.

“Oh. His note here said ‘the truth is in the paintings’,” Garrett said, gesturing to the piece of paper. “On our way up here I noticed some of the paintings had numbers hidden in them. Badly, I should add. Pratchett thought he was being clever, but it’s the oldest trick in the book, and frankly not very challenging.”

Corvo was silent for a moment. “Let’s just get to the spotlights,” he said finally. He thought he heard Garrett laughing behind him.

The stairs in Pratchett’s house led out to the roof, where Corvo got a view of the river Wrenhaven, as well as a man on the balcony of the house opposite. Judging by his shouts and ravings, he’d been driven mad, probably by plague. When the man stepped back inside the apartment, Corvo paused, listening.

The Heart had started to beat again.

For a moment, he didn’t say anything, instead focusing on the source of the noise, which looked as though it were the madman’s apartment.

“We should go in there,” he said to Garrett, who looked up, frowning.

“Why? We can just use the balcony to head past.”

“I think there’s a rune inside the apartment,” Corvo replied. “I _know_ there is. They could be useful to me later on.”

“What do they actually _do?”_ Garrett asked. “I gave it to you because it bore the same mark as you, but you didn’t really explain it.”

“They augment the powers given to me by the Outsider. I think if I collect enough I might be able to do more. Although I’m not sure what.”

“So how do you know there’s one in the apartment?” Garrett asked.

“The Heart,” Corvo said simply. “It does more than tell me secrets. It also tells me when a rune is near. The Outsider clearly wanted me to find them.”

Garrett didn’t say anything, before he sighed. “Fine,” he agreed. “But you’re dealing with the lunatic. I saw enough Gloomers to know he’s probably infected with something and I’m _not_ catching it.”

Rendering the madman unconscious was easy enough and soon Garrett and Corvo were both gazing on what was most likely the source of his ravings.

“A shrine?” Garrett questioned, eyeing the scrawled words on the walls: _The Outsider walks among us._ “Just when I thought your friend wasn’t audacious enough.”

“He doesn’t make the shrines,” Corvo said. “But I’m pretty certain they are some of the only places he can manifest in this world.”

“What do you mean?” Garrett asked.

“Watch.” Corvo reached out and took the rune; its power flared for a moment, and the Outsider emerged from a jet-black vortex.

“Rivers change course over many lifetimes,” he began, “and eventually all bridges tumble down. A thousand years ago there was another city on this spot. The people carved the bones of whales into runes and inscribed them with my Mark. Children still find them washed up in the river-mud.”

The pair were silent, listening to the Outsider speak, although Corvo could tell Garrett wasn’t impressed so far.

“Anton Sokolov has made a great study of my runes, but he’s not special like you are, Corvo,” the Outsider said. “Nor is he necessary, like you, Garrett. He wasn’t chosen and he doesn’t wear my Mark, so he can’t unlock their secrets. Sokolov believes there are specific words and acts that can compel me to appear before him. He searches old temples in Pandyssia and ruined subbasements in the Flooded District. He performs disgusting rituals beneath the old Abbey. But if he _really_ wants to meet me, he could start by being a bit more interesting.”

With his final, parting words, the Outsider faded from view.

Garrett was the first to speak. “He _really_ loves to be dramatic. I’ve half a mind to tell this Sokolov to stop wasting his time looking for him.”

“He probably wouldn’t listen,” Corvo said, as the rune crumbled to ash in his hand. They all did that, some of them faster than others. He wondered if the power bound to them for so long was the only thing keeping the whalebone together. As soon as Corvo absorbed it – or whatever it was he did, he wasn’t all _that_ sure and the Outsider wasn’t the kind to give detailed explanations – it faded and the bone crumbled after succumbing to a thousand years’ worth of decay.

They moved back out onto the balcony, scaling the wall to a vent nearby. Using various overhangs and ledges, they traversed the next series of rooftops quickly, before coming to an overlook. As soon as Corvo spotted what lay on the bridge in front of them, he cursed.

“Shit, an arc pylon.”

“I assume that’s the tall electrical thing?” Garrett asked, gesturing to the pylon. “What does this one do?”

Before Corvo could answer, the pair became aware of a commotion below them. Two men, clearly not Watch Guards, were in a heated discussion, apparently about a friend of theirs who’d been caught breaking curfew.

What they did next was like some cruel joke.

They made their way out into the open, clearly with the idea that they would overpower or push through the Watch Guards in order to reach their comrade. Instead, the arc pylon cruelly and spectacularly came to life. Beside him, Garrett flinched as the two men were vaporised instantly, similar to the arrow on the Wall of Light earlier that day. Only these were two living beings, turned to dust in an instant. A Wall of Light could be avoided. An arc pylon could track a moving target at ten feet.

Corvo didn’t say anything; instead watching the guards (immune to the pylon’s deadly charge) laugh and put away their swords. They’d barely reacted to the so-called attack. Next to him, he heard Garrett draw in a deep, steadying breath, almost as if he were trying to hold onto his stomach. Corvo realised, with a grimace, that this was probably the first time he’d seen such a device in action. And after his previous statements about unnecessary death, _this_ probably wasn’t the best example of Dunwall justice. A quick glance at Garrett showed that the man’s expression (or what he could see in his eyes) was a mix between revulsion and worry.

Garrett caught his gaze. “We should move on,” he said, voice even. Corvo wondered what exactly was going through his mind, but he nodded his assent.

He cast his gaze onto the bridge, trying to work out how to get to the searchlight controls without attracting the attention of either the guards or the arc pylon. Garrett too, seemed to realise that was what caused the hesitation, for he narrowed his eyes at the two guard posts on either side of the causeway – in the day they most likely served as a checkpoint.

“The supports,” he began, indicating with his hand the large cables. “They could support our weight. If we move quickly and quietly we can get onto the bridge using them.”

Corvo looked warily at the supports. While they didn’t actually move, he wasn’t _that_ sure if he would depend on their strength. Garrett seemed to realise his trepidation.

“We’ll take separate ones,” he said. “You drop me on the guard post on the left, you go to the one on the right, and we climb separately. If you’re _that_ worried, I’ll go first up mine. I’m lighter, and you can spot for trouble.”

He shrugged his shoulders. “I’ve climbed less stable things and come out unscathed,” he said.

“There probably wasn’t an arc pylon waiting at the bottom, though,” Corvo mumbled, before placing his hand on Garrett’s arm and transporting them to the guardhouse.

Corvo had been unsure of Garrett’s plan, and as soon as he stepped onto the cable he was even _less_ sure. Garrett, for his part, looked as though he’d been born to slither along the thing. He moved expertly and quickly, gripping with his feet and hands alternately. Corvo was once more reminded of a cat, the grace in which he moved.

Corvo gritted his teeth as he moved, making sure he didn’t place a foot wrong. He was glad Garrett _had_ suggested this method, however, as he spotted another arc pylon the bridge. Eventually the cable became too steep for Corvo to step on, and while Garrett had simply changed his position and clambered up to the top, Corvo neither had the confidence nor stamina to climb at the sharper angle. Instead, he transported himself to a stairwell on the side of the bridge, quickly moving to the top where Garrett waited for him.

“That could have been worse,” he finally admitted. Garrett huffed out a quiet laugh, eyeing the bridge in front of them.

“If we cross that walkway, we’ll get spotted for sure,” he said. Corvo nodded his assent, before looking at the bridge above them. Through the network of tangled metal and chains, he could see the top of the bridge above them. He sighed, muttering a curse to himself. Using the cables had been bad enough, _now_ they were going to have to go to the very top of the bridge to get across the damned thing. He inwardly wondered if Samuel had actually _tried_ to get them close.

“It’s my understanding you lived in a tower,” Garrett said as they climbed to the top of the bridge. “Why are you this worried about heights?”

“It’s not the height,” Corvo replied, noting that the higher they climbed, the colder the metal was. The wind was also stronger here, but not enough to severely hinder them. “It’s more the precarious ledges and oily cables,” he continued. “I’ve no desire to fall to my death.”

“You’re blessed with supernatural abilities that you can use to transport yourself across great distances,” Garrett began as they climbed a chain, and then hauled themselves on to the top of the bridge. “I got the gift of _sight,”_ he said.

They stood for a moment, simply admiring the view of Dunwall and the rest of the bridge before them, before carefully picking their way across struts and beams. Garrett led the way; Corvo trusted the man’s judgement to not lead them astray.

_Many seek the Bridge for solace. Ruined men, abandoned women, and plague victims have all leapt from here._

Corvo wondered if the Outsider was the one to trigger the Heart’s soft statements. It would explain why certain pieces of information came to Corvo at the most inappropriate of times. Apparently, his thousands of years in the Void had warped his sense of humour. If he’d ever had one in the first place.

Thankfully, their trip across the top of the bridge was fairly quick, and soon they were carefully descending the metal struts to a more reasonable level again.

“Look,” he said to Garrett, spotting their objective. “The lights.”

The lights were powered by two containers of whale oil, and while they were caged in, the door wasn’t locked. Corvo was glad; they didn’t have to risk looking for a key that was most likely held by a guard on the far side of the bridge. Corvo quickly removed them, and after a few seconds thought, hurled them into the waters of the Wrenhaven.

“Do you seriously think they won’t just replace the tank if we leave it sitting neatly on the floor here?” he asked, catching Garrett’s look. The man sighed, instead looking away, narrowing his eyes at the buildings on the far end of the bridge.

“Sokolov’s over there somewhere?” he asked, Corvo nodding his assent.

“I’ve not been his apartment, but he’s famous for living on this side of the bridge. And most likely everyone else will have moved elsewhere due to plague, he’ll probably be the only one living here.”

Garrett moved to the edge, overlooking the roadway far below them.

“We could take this cable down,” he said, “and then go to the foundation level using that overhang,” he pointed to the object in question.

Corvo was glad Garrett couldn’t see his expression, but apparently the thief picked up on his unease anyway, for he reached into his quiver and pulled out one of the rope arrows. He carefully took aim, firing the arrow so it lodged in a metal crossbeam. The hook-like end snapped shut, and Corvo could see that they would not open without a tool of some sort. The rope dangled over the edge of the bridge and onto the cable, meaning they could abseil (somewhat) safely down onto a more reasonable slope.

“Do you want me to go first?” Garrett asked, his tone almost mocking. Corvo scowled, before taking the rope.

“No,” he said. “If I fall I’ll need you to get the other end of the rope secured.”

“Just be glad I’m stronger than I look,” Garrett muttered, but he braced the rope all the same.

Once he found himself dangling hundreds of feet above a waterway, Corvo realised that his descent wasn’t so bad after all. He quickly shimmied down the rope, and when he’d found stable footing on the cable, he signalled to Garrett to join him. He _did_ notice that Garrett moved with a much greater ease and finesse than he did, but he didn’t comment. His ego was insufferable enough already.

Perched on the cable, they carefully made their way to the road, darting off to the side at the last minute to avoid patrolling guards. Thankfully, there was an unpatrolled path along the bottom of the bridge. After a second, Corvo saw _why_ guards weren’t there. He threw a hand out, stopping Garrett in his tracks by some crates.

“What is it _now?”_ the man asked. “Something that evaporates my flesh again?”

“No,” Corvo began. “River Krusts.”

“By all the gods, old and new, _what_ is a River Krust?” Garrett asked, exasperated. “And _why_ is it so deadly?”

“They’re reputed to contain very valuable pearls, but they’ll also defend it by firing extremely toxic chemical poisons at you. You either blow the thing up, or stay out of range.”

Garrett peered down the passage, spotting one of the Krusts.

“We’re going to be attacked by a violent _oyster?”_ he hissed, wary of the guards above them.

Corvo frowned. “What’s an oyster?” he asked. If it was anything like a River Krust, he wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

“Food,” Garrett said shortly. “If you’re lucky, they have pearls. Never found one myself, and I tend to go for jewellery made from pearls rather than the actual oyster.”

“People _eat_ them?” Corvo asked. He’d heard of some people once trying to eat a River Krust. It hadn’t turned out well for them.

“The ones we have don’t attack you upon approach,” Garrett retorted. “How do we get past them?”

“Right,” Corvo agreed, glad they were back at the task in hand. He peered at the Krusts.

“We could blow them up,” he said eventually. “Do you have one of your explosive arrows?”

“Only if you want to bring an entire guard patrol down here.”

“Well, then we’re just going to have to run. Unless you’d rather go to the roadway and welcome the patrol yourself.”

Garrett nodded, before gesturing to Corvo. “You go first,” he said. “So I can actually _see_ what’s going to attack me.”

Corvo had encountered River Krusts a few times before. He remembered them as a child on Serkonos, and more recently while travelling on the Empress’ orders. They were as repulsive as ever, attempting to fire their acrid poison at him as soon as he sprinted past. Fortunately, he was quick, and made it out of range without being hit once.

Garrett followed, the shorter man making a smaller target. He was more agile, too, and dodged the hurled projectiles with ease. Joining Corvo on the stairs, he eyed them with distaste.

“I think I prefer oysters,” he said.

“Why would anyone eat such a thing?” Corvo asked as they made their way to a gate. It was locked, but Garrett was soon in the process of fixing that, crouching and taking out his lock picks.

“They have aphrodisiac qualities, I’m told,” he said, carefully manipulating the lock, before opening the gate and peering out. Corvo made a face behind his mask. He didn’t think the benefits would be all that worth it.

They made their way along the street, before coming to a door that lead to the Midrow Substation, and hopefully Sokolov’s residence. It occurred to Corvo they were running out of Bridge.

They entered a building, climbing the stairs and exiting through an open window so as to overlook the street. This area was heavily patrolled, and Corvo could see a Wall of Light blocking access to the far end with no way around it.

“This might get complicated,” he said.

Eventually, with some skilful trickery on Garrett’s part and no small amount of luck, they had managed to disable the Wall of Light and creep past the veritable squadron of guards at the substation. Corvo almost laughed with relief, before realising they were still close to guards’ hearing, so remained silent instead.

Finally they reached another inhabited area, although there were so many buildings falling into disrepair from plague it was difficult to imagine the place bustling with people.

“This is like the Audale Bridge,” Garrett commented. “The one that caught fire,” he added.

“How did you set it on fire?” Corvo asked.

“It wasn’t me,” Garrett protested. “I was just trying to outrun a mob of Graven.”

They quickly entered a building, using the interior stairwell to climb to the rooftop.

They stood on the roof overlooking several dilapidated buildings. Corvo also spotted a group of people held behind a Wall of Light – a rudimentary prison, but effective. He assumed they were test subjects for Sokolov. Apparently the man didn’t have access to Weepers, unlike his rival Piero. Or he just wasn’t brave enough to face them.

“I never asked,” Garrett began, carefully watching the guards and prisoners. “Why are we kidnapping this Sokolov?”

“He painted a portrait of the Lord Regent’s mistress,” Corvo answered. “She’s most likely supplying him with money, so we need to cut him off from his funds. _And_ his lover.”

Garrett didn’t reply, instead listening to the guards’ distant conversation about Sokolov’s reason for having healthy test subjects. Corvo felt a pang of sympathy for them, but knew they wouldn’t be able to free them without causing a _lot_ of attention to themselves. They were kidnapping Sokolov, anyway, as soon as they realised the natural philosopher was gone the prisoners would most likely be released. He hoped.

It wasn’t far to Sokolov’s house – easily identified by the small squadron of guards and the ostentatious design of the building, almost jarring with the collapsed buildings around it. At least it granted Sokolov his privacy.

“Up on the roof,” Garrett said, pointing to a walkway. “Single guard, regular patrols, _and_ a chain.”

They clambered across several partially demolished buildings until they were level with the roof.

“One guard outside,” Garrett said. “A man inside and-” he trailed off, frowning. “A woman, I think. Sat down.”

 Corvo drew his crossbow, taking careful aim at the patrolling guard. It wouldn’t do for the man to fall over the side of the railing. After a few seconds, he stopped, and Corvo fired, hitting the man in the neck with a sleep dart. He smiled to himself, pleased with his aim, as Garrett lightly leapt onto the chain and swung onto the roof.

They crouched beneath a shuttered window, working their way to the door.

The building was a greenhouse, situated on the top of the building where it got the most light. The smell of plants was a vast contrast to the brine-and-oil scent of the river outside. For a second, Corvo was almost distracted by it. Thankfully, the man inside didn’t notice their entrance, too absorbed in recording an audiograph at his desk. Sokolov – for it was indeed him – didn’t appear to have any hope for his test subject, a woman in a cage on the far side of the room.

It was all too easy to creep up behind the man and render him unconscious. He quickly took a key that was hanging on the man’s belt and tossed it to Garrett.

“Let her out,” he said, gesturing to the woman in the cage.

Garrett complied – the woman stared at them with wide eyes as Corvo hoisted Sokolov onto his shoulder.

“Thank you, whoever you are,” she said. Corvo was surprised at her level of calm. “He kept me in a cage, like an animal,” she added. Corvo could see Garrett eyeing the man on his shoulder with an even greater level of distaste, but he stepped past him and began examining the work on the desk and the surrounding area.

“The pain is horrible right now,” she said to Corvo, “so I’ll just hide in a corner and leave when I’m feeling better.”

“Don’t stay too long,” Garrett warned her, still looking over Sokolov’s work. “The guards will get suspicious soon.”

He took a step towards Corvo, before wincing and pressing a hand to his Primal-enhanced eye.

Corvo saw him frown as he looked at one of troughs of plants. Slowly, he stepped forward, parting a fern and plucking a flower. It was a poppy, one of the strange white and blue ones he’d only seen once before in the Void; Garrett had later told him of their connection to the Primal.

If one was _here,_ then it wasn’t a very big step to assume the stone was nearby. Corvo hadn’t spotted anything unusual, and certainly not a glowing blue stone that would match Garrett’s description. Garrett, for his part, crushed the flower in his hand, before crouching and running his hands along the edge of the trough.

“What are you _doing?”_ Corvo hissed, well aware of their time constraints. “This is not the time to go feeling round a flowerbed.”

Even the girl they’d freed looked surprised as Garrett found an invisible switch. With a click, the _entire_ top of the trough slide away, revealing stacks of documents and audiograph cards.

“Keep a lookout,” Garrett told him, carefully sorting through the files. Corvo huffed, adjusting Sokolov’s limp form on his shoulder, glad that the man wasn’t too heavy. He wasn’t as heavy as Campbell, anyway. Still, he kept a careful watch on the door, carefully listening for sounds of any guards. Behind him, he heard Garrett rustling through the papers, carefully searching the box.

“It’s not here,” he said, after a few minutes. Corvo turned to see him scanning a piece of paper, numerous others stuffed into a sack he carried – the same sack he’d put loot from Bunting’s safe in. Corvo wondered where he’d kept it, before judging that there must be something under his cloak and attached the harness-like item he wore. Corvo also spotted a large number of audiograph cards in the sack, too.

“What’s not here?” Corvo asked.

“The stone shard,” Garrett replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “It _was_ here, but he’s written that someone took it from him yesterday. _Yesterday._ Those poppies only grow when they’re in close proximity, and it was here. _”_

“We’ll ask him when we get him back,” Corvo said – this was _not_ the place for a conversation. “We need to leave,” he pressed.

Before Garrett could answer, the door behind them opened.

“Mr Sokolov, I-“ the guard began, before stopping dead and taking in the scene before him. Garrett, with his bag of Sokolov’s notes. Corvo, holding the physician on his shoulder.

“You’ve made your point,” Garrett called, hurling his sack of papers at the guard, causing him to fumble while he caught it. As he did so, Garrett vaulted over the plant trough, bringing out his blackjack and bringing it down on the guard’s head. It connected with his helmet with an audible clang, but it did bring the guard to his knees, stunning him.

“Can you run with him?” Garrett asked, indicating Sokolov. He fixed his gaze on the floor, most likely using his enhanced vision to watch below them. Corvo gave his assent, adjusting the unconscious man on his shoulder. “Good, there’s four more coming up after I just rang the dinner bell here.” He struck the kneeling guard again, pitching him to the floor and knocking him out. “You should leave while they’re distracted,” he called to the girl in the corner, before picking up his sack and heading out onto the balcony.

They moved quickly, shouts of the guards echoing behind them. As they reached the chain they’d previously used, a bullet pinged off the floor next to Corvo’s boot. Garrett needed no further encouragement, simply leaping to the chain and swinging to the next building. A few papers fluttered down to the road far below them. Corvo hoped they weren’t important. When Garrett was clear, Corvo simply used the power given to him by the Outsider, to the shock of their pursuers.

While the guards were distracted by Corvo’s teleportation, he and Garrett bounded over a roof, heading for the other side of the bridge.

“Over there,” Corvo pointed, indicating an overhang near a stairwell that led to the river. Garrett nimbly leapt from the rooftop, landing on the overhang – it creaked, but did not move. As soon as he’d moved to the floor, Corvo joined him, and they quickly jogged down the stairs to where Samuel was waiting by the boat.

Far above them, shouts of the pursuit continued. Thankfully, Samuel was under an arch, out of sight of those on the bridge above. Corvo carefully placed Sokolov into the boat, and then removed a sleep dart from a small pouch he kept his crossbow ammunition in. He stuck it into the physician’s neck, ensuring he didn’t wake up on their trip back.

“Let’s go,” he said, he and Garrett climbing into the boat. The thief was silent; holding onto his sack of papers like it was a lifeline. He looked up at the bridge above them as Samuel piloted them out onto the river. Thankfully, they weren’t spotted; Samuel skilfully moved them away and out of sight before any guard even thought to look down at the river.

                                                                               

* * *

 

The sun had set by the time they’d returned to the Hound Pits, and Corvo got to fully appreciate what Garrett would be like in the dark. It was like sitting next to a shadow – albeit a shadow with a glowing eye. He’d not said anything on the way back; it appeared to Corvo he was deep in thought, most likely about the stone and Sokolov’s involvement with it.

“They set up a cell for Sokolov in the old kennel,” Samuel began, seemingly aware of the silence. “Shackles and everything,” he added. “It’ll be a shock, him waking up in the straw and old dog poop.”

“He’ll get used to it,” Corvo muttered, removing his mask. He darkly recalled his time in Coldridge.

“From what I hear, he’s woken up in worse places. Guess we all have, at that.” Samuel appeared to realise Corvo’s meaning. Even Garrett nodded his agreement.

They pulled up to the shore, where Havelock and Martin stood watching them. Corvo noticed the latter to be intently watching them, arms crossed over his chest.

“Well done, gentlemen,” Havelock said as they stepped ashore. Corvo noticed the inclusion of Garrett in the praise. “I doubt a dozen soldiers could have done it better.”

“From the sounds of the guards when we left, I’m sure they could,” Samuel spoke up.

“We lingered too long,” Corvo said, simply. “We made a clean exit,” he added, reassuring the pair of Loyalists before him. “They don’t know we’re here.”

“Good,” Martin said.

“Sokolov’s knowledge will enable us strike at the Lord Regent directly, and ultimately help you get your life back,” Havelock said. “Soon, we won’t _have_ to hide in the shadows.”

Garrett made a small noise at that comment, but he didn’t speak up. Corvo mused that his profession entailed just that, hiding in dark corners and waiting for the right moment. The missions they’d conducted today alone must have been widely against Garrett’s usual style _,_ yet he’d joined Corvo anyway. Still, the alternative was staying at the Hound Pits, finding nothing and most likely aggravating Havelock and the others to the point of being shot, or worse. Corvo didn’t think the Outsider would be too pleased with _that_ outcome.

“The Royal Physician is brilliant, but he was a fool to protect the Lord Regent,” Havelock continued. “Sokolov gave us the elixir, the war machines – he could have made us a great nation. Now he pays the price for siding with a tyrant.”

“ _He_ made those- those _things?”_ Garrett asked. “The pylons, and Walls of Light?”

“He did,” Corvo confirmed.

Garrett’s expression darkened and he cast a glance at the unconscious man in the boat. Corvo also noticed his hand gripped the sack a little tighter.

“Makes me wonder what he planned to do with-“ he broke off suddenly, realising the company they were stood in. “With other things,” he eventually said, keeping his tone even, clearly making sure that Havelock or Martin didn’t try and press him further.

“Tell me,” Martin said, apparently trying anyway. “Why did you feel the need to bring Sokolov’s research?” He nodded to the sack, where some paper and an audiograph card were just visible through the opening.

“I like to read,” Garrett said, voice curt. He folded his arms, holding the sack firmly against his chest.

“If you two wish to get some sleep, now is a good time,” Havelock said, clearly seeing the lost battle in asking Garrett further questions.

“Thank you,” Corvo said. “I think I’ll go check on Emily first.”

Havelock inclined his head, and he and Martin left them, heading up the stairs to the pub.

“I’ll get Mr Sokolov here set up in his new accommodation,” Samuel said. “If you see Wallace, tell him to give me a hand, will you?” he asked.

“We will,” Corvo said. “Coming?” he asked Garrett.

Before Garrett could reply, an announcement rang out over one of the propaganda loudspeakers that were in every district:

_“Attention Citizens: This evening the streets adjacent to Pendleton Manor will be closed for a private ceremony following the tragic loss of two of our city’s best and brightest, the Lords Custis and Morgan Pendleton. All holdings and Parliamentary votes now fall to Lord Treavor Pendleton, who asks for respect during this time of mourning.”_

Corvo caught a flicker of expression across Garrett’s face, but he hid it well.

“Lord Pendleton didn’t waste much time,” he eventually said.

Corvo didn’t comment. While he privately agreed with Garrett, he also saw the practical measure Pendleton was taking in moving as he did – the Loyalists desperately needed the majority of Parliament to legitimise their rule when the conspiracy revealed itself. Of course, they should gain them anyway, but Corvo knew in a city like Dunwall, it was best not to leave things to chance.

“You go check on your Empress-to-be,” Garrett said. “I’m going to start looking through these.”

“You should get some sleep,” Corvo reprimanded him. “I don’t know about you, but I can barely keep awake as it is.”

Garrett shrugged his shoulders. “I’m not tired.”

“Not _yet,”_ Corvo said. “I’ll need you sharp for Sokolov’s interrogation, and wherever that sends us. Please, Garrett,” he said. “Go and rest. Dwelling on the fact you missed your chance getting the stone by a day won’t help you. Trust me.” Corvo himself had spent a lot of time in Coldridge wondering what would have happened if he’d returned from the rest of the Isles on schedule. It didn’t bode well upon consideration.

Garrett sighed. “Fine,” he said. “I’ll take this ingot to Piero instead. Tell him it’s a down-payment for anything he makes for me. _Then_ I’ll head to your room. Happy?”

Corvo had almost forgotten Garrett’s theft from Pratchett’s safe. Gold wasn’t exactly light; it was a small achievement the thief had been able to move as he did carrying it. Still, Corvo nodded his assent.

They parted outside Piero’s workshop, where the man seemed _very_ interested in Garrett’s find, and then began to question him about Sokolov and his workshop. Corvo smiled to himself, knowing Garrett’s reticence in talking to _anyone_. It was a miracle he spoke to Corvo as much as he did, but he suspected that Garrett was voicing his opinion as a way to adapt to his surroundings. As he spoke to the man more and more, Corvo realised that Garrett’s city was _very_ different to his own. Even Karnaca, Corvo’s birthplace, wasn’t anything like where Garrett was born, and the Serkonan city itself was vastly different to Dunwall.

That being said, Corvo wasn’t complaining about Garrett’s apparently newfound verbosity. It was infinitely better than the silence Corvo had grown used to in prison.

Emily was asleep when Corvo entered the tower; Callista in a whisper told him to be quiet lest he wake her. He nodded, before quietly bidding the tutor goodnight. He could see that although Emily was asleep, it was not a peaceful once. Apparently they both suffered from nightmares, although Corvo couldn’t begin to wonder what Emily’s contained. The death of her mother, surely, but what else of the past six months? He was thankful for Callista keeping her vigil over her.

“You have a note,” Garrett told him when he entered his chambers. The thief was stood by the window, gazing through the dirty panes onto the street below. Inwardly, Corvo was surprised he’d actually followed through with his request. He spotted the sack of files on the floor by Garrett’s mattress, as well as an audiograph player that had _not_ been there earlier.

“Samuel gave it to me,” Garrett said, noticing Corvo’s gaze. “Apparently the Admiral threw it into the canal.”

Corvo muffled a laugh, instead turning to the note Garrett had mentioned. Surprisingly, it was from Pendleton.

_Corvo,_

_This matter with my brothers has not been pleasant at all so I don’t wish to discuss it further. However, I really must thank you. I’ve heard that you found some other means of neutralising them, without taking their lives. Ingenious. Wherever they are, even if they are miserable, they are alive at least. So perhaps one day I will see them again._

_-Lord Treavor Pendleton_

The note had been neatly placed on top of two gold ingots, most likely a reward for Corvo’s mercy regarding the Pendleton twins. All it did was make him feel worse about what had actually befallen the two men. Still, he’d told himself he wasn’t going to dwell on it.

“Seems our Lord is hoping he can beat his brothers _and_ let them know he did it,” he said eventually, crumpling the note in his hand.

“He’s more naive than I thought,” Garrett replied, as Corvo lay down on his bed, thankful for the clean mattress that had been placed there. Drowsiness struck him almost as soon as his head had hit the pillow, and soon he succumbed to sleep, the last thing he saw being Garrett’s silhouette at the window.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's all happening now, heh. We finally get a mention of the stone shard! Even if it is a dead end for Garrett. Poor Garrett.
> 
> The reason I'm only really including the runes found at Outsider shrines rather than all is simply because I can't really afford to write every minor detour to runes. The same goes for the safes in each level. Plus it makes a lot more sense to me to only include the runes found in the shrines. Maybe I just like the Outsider too much.
> 
> A reviewer on FFN.net asked why the voice of "The Eye" didn't have its original owner's - Garrett Sr's - voice. Simply put, I've never played the original Thief games, and it never really crossed my mind, though. Still, it's a neat idea, just one I wouldn't be able to realistically implement.
> 
> I can find no reference of oysters in the Dishonored universe. Hence, they don't exist. Only the Krusts.
> 
> I am also of the firm belief that Garrett really would abhor the practice of whale oil harvesting. And indeed, while the "non-lethal" removal of certain characters is styled as such in-game, you do have to admit they are pretty dark. Poetic, but dark.
> 
> Anyway, hope you all enjoy this update!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Did you just fight a duel for Pendleton’s honour?” Garrett asked. Corvo could almost hear him smiling.
> 
> “It would have been nice if he’d let me in on it,” Corvo grumbled,

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for a late chapter. I went to Bristol to meet up with internet friends for a weekend and then for the entire week after that I watched the entirety of Grimm. You know how these things go.  
> Anyway, here we get the party-crashers extraordinaire!  
> If you want a picture of Garrett's mask, look for the bottom of the document, I've provided a link.  
> My thanks for this chapter go to Lark (tumblr user cometoruin, known on here as jacknall), and lorca-the-great.  
> A further shoutout to tumblr user arken-stones who asked me on the status of this chapter, which then prompted me to finish it! You know how it goes, you don't write for a week, its then difficult to actually go and do it.
> 
> In any case, enjoy!

At first, he wasn’t sure what had woken him. As Corvo adjusted to the light around him, his eyes rested on a figure beside his bed. He would have been alarmed had the figure not been so familiar, one he’d missed seeing in his peripheral vision for a very long time.

Emily laughed as he sat up, stood a short distance from the bed.

“You were making funny faces while you were sleeping,” she said. Corvo wondered if he’d been dreaming. He couldn’t remember it – an achievement on its own, normally he was woken by a nightmare. Emily’s presence was clearly reassuring his subconscious that things _would_ get better, even if they still felt bleak.

He was glad of it; otherwise Emily might have been facing the sharp end of his sword this morning, instead of the greeting he gave her.

“I decided to nap here in your room while Callista was taking her bath,” the girl explained. “She told me if there’s ever trouble I should always run here.”

“You can stay here whenever you want,” Corvo told her, rising and taking a look around the room.

He almost did draw his sword when he saw an unfamiliar figure sitting on Garrett’s mattress. It took him a moment to realise why he’d been so unsettled, before realising Garrett had actually _removed_ his regular outfit, simply garbed in a thin white shirt and trousers. Corvo assumed they were the garments he wore underneath his regular gear. Garrett was sat on the edge of the mattress, hunched over the leather, carefully applying the oil he’d bought from Griff to certain parts of it.

Without his customary attire, Garrett appeared even smaller than before, if that were possible. Corvo had previously thought him to be thin, but the word that sprang to mind upon seeing him now was _fragile._ Not that he would ever say it to the man – he could clearly see well-defined muscles under the thin cotton shirt he wore. He was pale, but in the day’s light his skin was like porcelain, and the kohl that previously surrounded his eyes was gone, instead leaving dark shadows. Corvo had seen the same under his own – the thief had had trouble sleeping for a long while. His hair, black in colour – what else – was short, close-cropped, but also untidy. Corvo assumed that he cut it himself; he doubted there would be a barber that operated at night, or provided service to a man of Garrett’s position.

Upon sensing Corvo’s stare, Garrett looked up.

“This oil is repulsive,” he stated simply. “I assume it’s made from whale. It _stinks.”_

He went back to his task, carefully applying it along the seams of leather. Corvo also saw that Garrett was right, as the stench of the oil reached him. He wrinkled his nose.

“I hope our next outing is to the fish market,” he said. “Otherwise they’ll be able to smell you coming a mile off.”

Garrett snuffed a quiet laugh, absorbed in his task. “It should fade away once it’s dry. Everything here smells like fish anyway, I doubt I’ll stand out _that_ much.”

“Whatever you say,” Corvo told him. “I’m going to find some food and Piero, coming?”

“No,” Garrett said. “I need to finish this – and _these,”_ he nodded his head to the stack of papers and audiograph cards by his side. Unlike the night before, they were neatly organised into stacks, although from this distance Corvo couldn’t see any pattern to the organisation.

“Did you actually sleep?” Corvo asked him.

“A little,” Garrett admitted. “Enough to keep me going, anyway.”

Corvo shook his head, heading to the bedroom door. “Emily, you can stay, but make sure Garrett doesn’t spend _too_ long with the oil. It’ll probably damage his brain.”

“Check the bathroom on the second floor,” Garrett called as he left the room. “You’ll find Piero there.”

Corvo wondered why Piero was there. He hadn’t known the man to leave his workshop outside the building, usually too absorbed in whatever new invention he’d been dreaming up.

Upon reaching the second floor, he soon saw why. Piero was crouched outside the bathroom door, peering through the lock. It was then Corvo recalled Emily had said Callista had been bathing.

Corvo had seen the glances Piero had given to Callista, his unsuccessful attempts to engage her in conversation, but _this_ was something else entirely. He coughed quietly, alerting the natural philosopher to his presence.

Corvo wasn’t sure if he’d seen a man move so fast, the speed at which Piero had turned to face him.

“I know it looks-“ he stammered, voice faltering already. “I was inventing a new kind of lock- the- the tumblers shaped like- like snowflakes.”

Corvo didn’t speak, instead simply raising an eyebrow as he watched Piero’s face turn a deeper hue of crimson.

“The truth is there is no snowflake lock.”

Corvo wondered if Sokolov’s interrogation would go as quickly.

“I was just, you know, looking. Through the lock.” Piero’s voice faded until it was barely audible.

Corvo had seen Garrett do this on a few occasions, and he had himself. He’d not looked into a _bathroom,_ however.

“I’d rather you _didn’t_ spy on people here, Piero,” he said simply, the other man looking more and more abashed.

“I couldn’t bear it if she knew,” the man pleaded. “I know you’re a man of honour, and I also know that you can kill me at any time. For both these reasons, I apologise and _beg_ for your discretion.”

Corvo was silent for a moment, more to watch Piero squirm than to do anything else. He probably shouldn’t have enjoyed it as much as he did, before he spoke again.

“I wondered if the ingot Garrett gave you was enough to cover materials for our supplies,” he said, changing the subject to let the man know the issue wasn’t going to be discussed.

“It is,” Piero said. “But they don’t sell well on the black market at the moment, mostly because nobody is able to melt them down at the moment. I should have enough supplies for you by the time you leave, however.”

“Good,” Corvo said. “Before you leave,” he added, “is there anything else you can tell me about Sokolov?”

“Other than what I’ve already told you?” Piero asked. “It’s well known that Sokolov is virtually addicted to a rare liquor called King Street Brandy. The taste is revolting,” he added. “It’s very expensive stuff, a blend of rare Pandyssian spices and a drop of whale oil.”

Corvo nodded thoughtfully to himself, and Piero turned to leave.

“Don’t let me catch you here again,” he warned, seeing Piero’s step quicken. He cast a glance at the bathroom door before him, before deciding that it would probably be very rude of him to barge in on Callista. In any case, he could simply have a quiet word with her later about Piero’s misdeeds, if he chose to.

In the end, his stomach solved the issue, and he headed down to the bar area in search of food.

He encountered Lydia, who was more than happy to supply him, and soon he was headed back to his shared room. He carried a plate of food for Garrett (Lydia had made a rather suggestive comment concerning Garrett needing to keep up his strength) and two steaming mugs of coffee. He briefly wondered where the supplies had come from, but he wasn’t going to turn them down.

Before he could reach the door, the sound of quiet conversation reached his ears. He recognised Garrett’s low tones, as well as Emily’s much lighter ones. As much as he told himself he was hanging back so as not to intrude, it was more so he could listen to their words.

“What do you do?” Emily had asked. “Corvo’s my protector, my mother’s and I,” she added, proudly.

Garrett didn’t speak, and Corvo wondered if he was actually going to answer.

“I find things,” he said eventually. “People ask me to find and get things for them, and I do.”

Well, it wasn’t an entirely dishonest answer, Corvo reasoned.

“Like me?” Emily asked.

“Like you,” Garrett replied. “That’s why Corvo brought me along.”

If Corvo had to guess, he would have thought that this was not the first time Garrett had spoken to someone a lot younger than him. Either that or he was extremely used to keeping his profession a secret from those who were not best placed to know about it. He recalled Garrett hadn’t told him much about Erin, other than that he’d once been her mentor, but his speech had always given the impression she was younger than him. Garrett’s profession wasn’t one you turned to at middle age – it had to be learned young in order to build up the skill to an art form. Corvo had owned his first sword many years ago, and through sheer hard work and practise – perhaps a little luck – he’d won his place to guard the Empress. He imagined Garrett’s talent came from similar hard work.

He was drawn from his thoughts by Emily’s next question.

“Could you find the man who killed mother?”

Corvo drew in a slow, deep breath. His thoughts had long lingered on the Empress’ assassins while in Coldridge – there had been nothing else to think about. He’d told himself that he wasn’t going to draw Emily into it. If he spiralled into revenge, killing Daud instead of bringing him in to be tried, he wouldn’t want Emily to know. Her mother had been kind, almost too kind, but she’d been fair and just. Corvo wanted her daughter to carry the same sense of justice. But if Emily’s thoughts were dwelling on _revenge_ such as this, as Corvo’s often did, he didn’t know what he would do. In a sense, he was helpless, caught between wanting to do the right thing for the Empress and also wanting to do the right thing for her legacy.

_She hides her fears. She seeks someone to trust._ Hearing the Heart speak about Emily, whispering to him in the voice of her dead mother caused Corvo’s own heart to ache. He’d buried his feelings for Jessamine a long time ago, duty and honour being more prominent in his role as Lord Protector. They’d both understood that their relationship could never progress further than what duty allowed. Corvo had loved the Empress, he loved Emily too, but he also knew the rumours that had circled court around Emily’s birth; so had Jessamine. Neither one had ever addressed them to an outside party, but they had both known that Emily’s real father would never be informed of his child, lest he attempted to seize the throne. Emily Kaldwin existed on a precipitous ledge, threatened by her biological father (if he discovered her existence) on one side and the very government sworn to protect her on the other.

In a sense, he almost understood her asking Garrett if he could find the man who killed Jessamine. It was another threat to Jessamine’s lineage, one that the Empress had been very careful to keep in her name.

Garrett hadn’t spoken for a while, and when he did, Corvo frowned at the response.

“Finding the man who did it won’t bring her back.”

His voice was quiet. Corvo could almost picture him carefully sorting through the sheets of paper he’d taken from Sokolov, quiet and precise movements. But his words betrayed something deeper, something _more._

“When I was a child,” Garrett began – Corvo heard him place a stack of paper on the floor – “My parents were killed. Murdered.” He took a breath. Corvo himself was barely breathing as he hovered outside the door. “I was much younger than you. And for a while I thought I’d died with them. And where I was, you quickly learned that _nothing_ was going to bring your parents back.”

Emily had fallen silent, apparently listening to Garrett with rapt attention.

“When I got older, I thought about revenge, about what I would do if I found the people who killed them. As time passed I realised it was distracting me from what was important. They might be dead, but _I wasn’t._ And neither are you. Don’t waste that. Remember your mother, but don’t destroy her memory with thoughts of revenge. Not like I did with my own parents.”

There was a long silence after that, before Emily spoke up again.

“How old were you?” she asked, voice quiet.

“Six,” Garrett replied, voice grim. “It was a very long time ago.”

Corvo decided he’d lingered in the hallway too long – the coffee was growing steadily colder in his hands. When he entered the room, he beheld Emily and Garrett sitting on Garrett’s mattress (sat at either end), Garrett poring over papers from Sokolov and Emily looking through a book she’d brought with her. Corvo passed the food and the coffee to the thief, who looked surprised.

“Is this real coffee?” he asked, taking a sip. “This is almost as expensive as silver in my city,” he added. He saw Corvo’s look. “People can’t sleep when they catch the Gloom. Coffee helps them stop feeling tired. You can see why there’s a shortage.”

“So if you took that back you could sell it for a fair price?” Corvo asked.

“Not this stuff. It may be coffee but it still tastes of fish.”

Emily giggled, causing Corvo to offer her a smile, before he turned to Garrett again.

“Find anything in those sheets of paper?” he asked.

“A little,” Garrett said, picking up a piece of bread from his plate and chewing. “Sokolov barely understood what he had, and what he _did_ understand he then tried to connect it to the Outsider. He’s obsessed.”

“The pictures are weird,” Emily spoke up, indicating one of the top sheets. Garrett nodded his agreement.

“This looks like it was where he summarised his notes and drawings,” he said, placing a slightly larger sheet onto an empty space on the floor. “Sokolov knew the stone held a great amount of power. He was trying to work out _how_ to harness it.” Garrett leaned over to the stack of audiograph cards, scanning them. “Good thing he numbered these,” he added, picking up one of the cards and placing it in the player.

_“Sokolov here. Yesterday the Lord Regent entrusted me with the study of a small stone shard. It is made of an unknown material, comes from an unknown source and is a strange blue colour. At this moment in time it is unlikely that I shall rule out Outsider influence. I believe the object is safe to the touch, but I shall prohibit prolonged exposure until I am certain.”_

The audio log stopped, ejecting the card, and Garrett began to paw through the pile of cards, presumably looking for a more recent one. Corvo cast a glance at Emily, who was looking at Sokolov’s notes and drawings with apparent interest. He briefly wondered whether they should have made her leave the room. Corvo immediately decided against it; Emily was going to be Empress soon, she needed to know what her usurpers had been doing during both Corvo’s and her incarceration. Even at her young age, her soon-to-begin tenure as ruler of a nation could have monumental setbacks if a secret, potentially dangerous project was not brought to light.

“If he made one of these logs each day,” Garrett began, “then he had the stone for 3 months before it was taken from him. I’d wager _you_ had something to do with that,” he added, selecting another card.

_“Log Number 57. The stone is remarkable. When in close contact I am granted with fantastical visions of another world, a world filled with great men and their endeavours to harness the energy this stone contains! Referring to sheet number 86 of my notes, I have drawn what I can see of their features, ready to distribute across the Isles so I may find these men and discover the goal of these plans.”_

Garrett quickly searched through the sheets for the corresponding number. As he did so, Corvo noticed a mark on the back of his left hand, a scar. He wondered where it had come from, and whether Garrett had gained it during his struggle against the Graven six months ago – it _looked_ around that age. Injured hands were probably not a good idea in Garrett’s profession.

“Here’s the sheet,” Garrett said, looking over the images. “Sokolov added them to his central sheet. Pity he doesn’t realise all of these men are dead.”

“They are?”  Corvo asked, taking the paper and looking at the portraits Sokolov had made – quickly drawn, but accurate.

“Baron Northcrest and Orion,” Garrett indicated each man. “This man is Cornelius Greaves, and this is Theodore Eastwick. All of them were part of the ritual at the manor to _harness_ the energy of the Primal. All of them died within six months.”

“How?” Corvo didn’t ask the question, it was Emily who spoke up.

“Cornelius died of a sickness that was caused by his own meddling, Eastwick hanged himself before the mob could do it – the Baron wasn’t so lucky – and Orion...” Garrett trailed off, looking down at Emily. “There’s a reason Sokolov shouldn’t be interfering with this stone.”

“Speaking of,” Corvo said, casting his eye to the door. “He’s probably awake by now. I should see if Havelock’s made any progress. Coming?”

Garrett didn’t answer for a moment, looking down at the sheets and cards massed around him.

“I’ll join you later,” he said eventually. “I need to work out _exactly_ what Sokolov knew from the stone.”

Corvo left him to it, seeing that the man was far too wrapped up in his work to deviate from it now. Upon arriving at the kennels – Sokolov’s home for now – he found Pendleton stood outside.

“I hope Sokolov will cooperate,” he said. “I’d hoped to have him paint my portrait again one day. Just me this time.”

Corvo inwardly noted that if Pendleton was only thinking of using Sokolov for his painting skills, then it was most likely a good thing the Empire didn’t rest in his hands alone. Clearly his jealousy and hate for his brothers ran very deeply indeed. He appeared completely recovered from his previous sadness about the loss of the twins, at any rate.

Upon entering the kennel, he saw that the natural philosopher was indeed awake, stood inside his makeshift cell with folded arms and an angry expression. Havelock was pacing outside, probably hoping to intimidate the man.

“Royal Physician,” the admiral said, noticing Corvo’s arrival, “I believe you and Corvo knew each other in former days. Unlike you, our friend Corvo knows what loyalty means.”

Havelock had made a somewhat petty jab, in Corvo’s opinion, considering Sokolov’s delicate position. If his own situation had been any different, Corvo doubted he would he committing the acts of treason he had been doing this past week simply for the sake of loyalty to a former ruler. Sokolov didn’t appear all that impressed either.

“I am loyal to my inner spirit,” he challenged. “ _You_ are the one consorting with the most dangerous man in the Empire.”

Corvo allowed himself a small smile at that, one that was not unnoticed.

“It’s my belief that Corvo was innocent in the death of the Empress, and the former Spymaster, or the Lord Regent as he calls himself, is a ruthless tyrant, bent on destroying this city, the heart of the Empire.”

“You are mistaken if you think there’s love between me and the Lord Regent,” Sokolov practically spat. “But whatever you intend to do here, I assure you, I am beyond petty scare tactics.”

Corvo admired the man’s gall. Perhaps it was a trait common among Tyvians. It certainly wasn’t a trait among natural philosophers, considering Piero’s quickness to talk previously.

“If I don’t scare you, Sokolov,” Havelock replied coolly, “perhaps these rats _will?”_ He hit the side of a crate on the far side of the cage. The sounds of scuffling and the high-pitched unmistakable squeals of rats emanated from within. “Even if they don’t carry plague, I’ve heard a swarm of rats stripping a child’s body to the bone in half a minute. I’ve heard worse. How long do you think it will be before you talk? Before you _beg_ to talk?”

For a man set in fighting in the Empress’ name, Havelock had a certain cruel streak about him. Corvo wondered whether he’d been discharged from the admiralty for more than one reason.

“Rats, is that the company you keep now, admiral?” Sokolov asked, causing Corvo to smile. He’d never been overly fond of the physician, but his stubbornness in the face of torture was admirable. He was doing _far_ better than Piero; or Bunting, for that matter.

“It’s the company _you_ keep that interests us, Sokolov. We know you painted a portrait of the Lord Regent’s mistress. The very aristocrat who is funding the military with her fortune. She is the key to the Lord Regent’s control over the city, and we _must_ have her name.”

Corvo knew their objective was paramount, but he could also see Sokolov wasn’t impressed by Havelock’s attempts at intimidation.

“You’re part of this rabble,” Sokolov said, turning to Corvo, who was still stood by the door. “But I know you have your reasons.”

“Yes, he does,” Havelock cut in. “All we need is the name of the Lord Regent’s Mistress. It’s very simple.”

“I _elect_ not to tell you,” Sokolov retorted. “You will have to force the words from me, and I warn you my willpower is quite legendary.”

Corvo had seen enough corpses stripped by rats within the past week – he’d had to utilise a corpse to distract the rats to escape the sewers near Coldridge Prison safely earlier in the week. He certainly didn’t want to have to watch them chew on Sokolov for the sake of a name. He also knew that it would most likely make Sokolov less willing to help in the long term – Corvo bore no love for _his_ torturers, after all. And if Sokolov died without giving them a name, then they would be unable to do anything. There were far too many noble women in this city.

He suddenly recalled the information Piero had given to him earlier.

“Let’s see if we can find a bribe for you,” he said, causing Havelock to start in shock on the far side of the cage.

“A curious strategy,” he eventually said.

“Of which _I_ approve,” Sokolov executed a short bow, enhancing his words. Corvo had to force himself to not roll his eyes – his features were currently not hidden by a mask.

He turned and left, hoping that Piero actually _had_ some of the rare liquor he’d said Sokolov loved.

Piero was at first unwilling to give him the brandy, but after a swift reminder of a potential conversation Corvo could have with Callista and the promise of a gold ingot (one given to him by Pendleton), the man finally surrendered the bottle. Corvo inspected the contents, finding the liquor a deep orange in colour. It didn’t _look_ all that appetizing, but Corvo supposed it was a decent a liquor as any.

When he entered the kennel again, both Havelock and Sokolov were still stood in the same places. Neither of them appeared to have spoken since Corvo had left.

“I have a bottle of King Street for you,” Corvo said, producing the item in question.

“King’s Street Brandy?” Sokolov questioned, trying to reach for the bottle. Corvo held it just out of his reach for a moment, before passing the bottle to the physician. Better to get into his good graces early – he knew Garrett would more than likely want to speak to the man about his work on the stone, and he wasn’t sure if the thief could be delicate about it. He’d not been so with any other person he’d met, aside from Emily, but Corvo suspected that was more due to Emily’s age than her position.

“I didn’t know if any more existed,” Sokolov said, almost reverently, cradling the bottle to his chest. “It is an extraordinary gift. I see I’m dealing with men of taste.”

It was amazing how a bottle of liquor could change a man’s opinion so quickly, but Corvo wasn’t complaining. If this was what it took for Sokolov to talk then it made his job a lot easier.

“I can tell you this much,” Sokolov continued, “she was always referred to as Lady Boyle. I painted her, to be sure, but I never saw her face, or learned her first name.”

Corvo raised an eyebrow as he took in this information. The name he recognised, although he couldn’t place where, but if Sokolov wanted him to believe that he never saw the face of the person he painted then he was going to have to try a _lot_ harder.

“You see,” the man continued, apparently aware of the situation, “I painted her from _behind._ I assure you, she still makes a striking portrait. But I do not know which Boyle she is. I was to be introduced to her at a masked ball in her honour this very night. But I will miss that party, it seems.”

“A _masked_ ball at the Boyle estate? Tonight?” Havelock questioned. “The timing is perfect, Corvo. But the Boyles are wealthy and ruthless, so security will be very tight.”

“Of course, you already have a mask, don’t you Corvo?” Sokolov asked. Of course, now Sokolov was here, it probably wasn’t too much of a stretch for him to guess who the masked felon was.

“He’s right,” Havelock agreed. “You’ll be able to mingle with them once you’re on the grounds. You’ll have to find out which of the Boyle women is connected to the Lord Regent, and take her out in whatever way you can devise.”

Corvo noted that Havelock seemed to be noticing his aversion to killing the targets giving to him. He just hoped that an opportunity to remove this Lady Boyle presented itself in due time, as it had in other circumstances. Killing nobles was a messy business on any day, and could bode serious repercussions for the future of the Empire if he did it wrong tonight.

“We’re very close now. If you do this tonight, we’ll be able to strike at the Lord Regent himself and put Emily on the throne.”

“Not if our genius physician here has been as stupid as I think he has.”

All three inside the room turned to the door. The source of the voice was Garrett (Corvo wasn’t surprised), who was wearing the cloak that went with his outfit, hood concealing most of his features. Corvo wondered if it was for intimidation. Garrett certainly looked more unsettling than Havelock had, and his silence upon entering the room only disquieted the three men inside further. Havelock looked as though he wanted to say something, but Corvo warned him off with a look. Under his arm Garrett carried the audiograph player and a few of Sokolov’s note sheets. He placed the player on the table, setting a card inside and hitting play. From his position, Corvo could discern the number 81, which meant it was most likely one of the final logs Sokolov had made concerning the shard of Primal stone.

_“I gave the Lord Regent his regular update concerning the stone and its visions. He seemed most fascinated by the apparent eradication of a plague when the energy was harnessed during the ritual. Efforts to track the members of this ritual have so far proved futile – they are not in Dunwall at the very least, and the city I see within the stone is unfamiliar. I urged him to let me continue its study, but he told me to surrender the stone or be imprisoned, and find another way of curing the plague that currently ravages this city. If only I could repeat their ritual! Then perhaps all this madness would come to an end.”_

The log cut off, those gathered silent. Sokolov was the first to speak.

“How did you get that?” he asked, practically spitting in rage. “They were hidden!”

“You were wrong,” Garrett said. Corvo could sense a barely contained anger inside the man, probably more emotion than he’d seen from the man _yet._

“You were- what?” Sokolov apparently hadn’t expected that from the thief. Garrett didn’t look up at the man, but he produced a sheet of paper – one of Sokolov’s notes – and held it up.

“This piece of paper summarises all you saw in that stone fragment. You saw a city, overrun by a mob of the poor – you even drew their symbol here –“ He indicated a drawing in the corner of the sheet, from what Corvo could tell it was an eye with a cross through it. “And you saw a man rise from the mob, take control with the help of the beleaguered City Watch, place a woman who you believed to be the instigator of the mob, perhaps even a _god,_ inside an asylum, and then perform a ritual on her, extracting the force and placing it inside a stone that he’d found in pieces, restoring order to the city once more. Am I correct?”

Havelock appeared to be at a loss for words behind Corvo, simply for the sheer _gravity_ Garrett held while speaking to Sokolov. He’d not yet looked up, keeping his face concealed. Corvo wondered whether it was to hide his eye, the eye that glowed the same colour as the stone the natural philosopher had spent three months studying.

“That is what it showed me,” Sokolov said, his contempt for Garrett clear. “I do not expect _you_ to understand.”

Corvo saw that Garrett was trying to keep himself calm and measured. His hand twitched around the paper he held, but he kept his gaze levelled at the ground, instead of looking up at Sokolov. Garrett had struck him as a man who didn’t like speaking at length, and he often kept his more base emotions in check, yet whatever it was he’d found in Sokolov’s notes had clearly struck deep.

“I understand perfectly. You were taken in by what you thought was the promise of a power source and a cure for your plague. What you failed to see was what actually happened.”

“Enlighten me then,” Sokolov retorted. “What could you have _possibly_ got from simply reading my notes? Aside from proof that you _are_ able to read?”

Garrett appeared to have reached his tether – which had been short anyway – for he stood up and faced Sokolov, removing his hood in one quick motion. Clearly it had the intended effect, for Sokolov recognised the blue glow surrounding Garrett’s eye. Corvo saw his eyes dart across Garrett’s face, taking in the scars and the clear signs of sleepless nights. Sokolov almost took half a pace back as Garrett stepped closer to the bars.

“I want you to look at what your stone has done,” Garrett hissed, gesturing to his face. “You may have seen what you thought to be truth, but I _lived_ it. You _thought_ you saw a city being restored to order from plague, but you were wrong. You saw everything _in_ _reverse_. The stone – the ritual – _caused_ the plague. It _caused_ the mob, the uprising, the burning. All of the men in the ritual: Northcrest, Eastwick, Cornelius, Orion; _all of them dead._ And you think you can harness the power in the same way they attempted to? You’d sit in your workshop and attempt to play god in the same way they did? Well, I _carry_ a piece of this stone in me, and it has caused _nothing_ but hurt and pain, and it will do the same here unless by _some miracle_ I manage to recover it before your _incompetence_ ruins us all.”

Garrett stepped back again, before holding up another sheet, with a picture of a woman on it. She was short haired, much like Garrett, but wearing a pale white dress. Something about her just looked _wrong._ Corvo wondered if it was Erin.

“And this girl?” Garrett continued, confirming Corvo’s suspicion. “She wasn’t meant to be the vessel. She wasn’t a vengeful god who the men tamed into submission. She was _lost_ and _hurt_ and _filled_ with the pain of an entire city. And if you think for a _moment_ that she’s the one who’s going to lead you to the Outsider, you’re even more foolish.”

Garrett’s newfound eloquence was short-lived, for he crumpled the paper in his fist and turned away, breathing heavily for a moment.

“Where did the Regent take the stone?” he asked, the sudden calm nature to his voice unsettling Corvo far more than his previous outburst had. Havelock looked as though he were about to interfere, but Corvo shook his head, warning him off. This was far more important than a party right now.

Sokolov, for his part, looked _lost._ He stared at Garrett for a few moments, almost uncomprehending, absorbing the information that had just been unloaded on him.

“But-“ he began, attempting to challenge Garrett’s words. “It was going to be used as a cure-“

“It didn’t work,” Garrett said shortly, the matter-of-fact tone in his voice indicating that he felt he didn’t need to elaborate. “ _Where_ is the stone?”

“I- I don’t know,” Sokolov finally admitted, attempting to recover his previous arrogance. “You think I am privy to every secret of the Lord Regent?”

Garrett said nothing, before he looked up at Corvo. Corvo wasn’t sure what he saw in the man’s eyes – something between sorrow, regret, and anger – before he recovered his stony expression again.

“I hope you’re telling the truth. Not for your sake, but for _everyone’s.”_

He pulled his hood up again, leaving the kennels as silently as he’d arrived.

“We need to talk,” Havelock said quietly, motioning to the kennel door. Sokolov was still staring at it, previous confidence almost completely vanquished. He’d not even opened the bottle of brandy Corvo had given him.

Outside, Corvo found himself presented with a withering stare from the admiral, who was clearly not impressed with Garrett’s pseudo-interrogation. Or Corvo’s previous conduct around the man, it seemed.

“You told me he was here to help you,” Havelock began. “He was a friend of yours and he would not jeopardise our mission. Yet he has just told one of the smartest men in the entire Empire that he’s a fool. He not only has an ulterior motive for being with us in striking at the Regent, but he’s looking for something that sounds as if it could provide great power to Dunwall, all for himself.”

Corvo knew that Havelock wasn’t privy to the same sort of information he was. If the admiral knew the Outsider had set Garrett to his task, he’d probably be marching to their shared bedchamber ready to shoot the thief. But Corvo was simply amazed at the man’s reaction, especially considering he’d actually heard Garrett’s words firsthand.

“You think this stone can _help us?”_ he asked. “Did you not just hear what Garrett said?”

“All I heard was one man’s word against another man’s. And I’m more willing to believe one than the other.”

“Admiral,” Corvo began, keeping his voice even while his mind frantically searched for the right words. “As it stands at the moment, Garrett has been nothing but a help to our cause. He was vital in finding Emily and disposing of the Pendleton twins. He saved us both from getting caught numerous times – even last night when we were almost caught leaving with Sokolov. Yes, he has other reasons for being here, but I trust him to keep his motivations separate. He knows our mission, and he also knows he has no reason to stop us from doing what we’ve planned to, simply because if the Regent _does_ have the stone, it will be a lot easier to find once he’s not in power, yes?”

Corvo quickly left before Havelock could say any more, mind reeling from the revelations from both Garrett and the admiral. He found the former in their shared room, pacing in front of his mattress – Emily was nowhere to be seen.

“Callista came and found her,” Garrett said, noticing Corvo’s look. “She has lessons.”

Corvo didn’t respond, simply mulling their current situation over in his head. He cast a glance up at the ceiling, spotting Garrett’s small gathering of loot on the beam, in that instant recalling where he’d heard the name Boyle before.

“The invitation you have,” he said, nodding to the paper. “Is it for a party tonight? At the Boyle Estate?”

Garrett reached up, taking down the paper and the mask he’d stashed with it.

“A masked ball, hosted by the three ladies Boyle,” he summarised. “Why?”

“One of them is the Lord Regent’s mistress. She’s our next target. And you’ve just provided a way in. Good thing you picked up that mask.”

Garrett looked up sharply, frowning. “You want me to come with you to a party? A party of _nobles?”_ he asked. “I’m a thief, I don’t... _mingle_.”

“You made that abundantly clear just now,” Corvo said. “I think you gave Sokolov _quite_ a lot to think about.”

Garrett’s expression darkened; Corvo saw his hand clench into a fist again. “I hope he _does_ think about it. He had everything in completely the wrong direction.”

“Well, I don’t think he does anymore,” Corvo reasoned, keeping his tone neutral. “Your bigger problem is that Havelock now knows what you’re here for and I think he trusts Sokolov more than you. He’s probably telling Martin and Pendleton now. In any case,” he finished, “we need to set out for the Boyle Estate. You won’t be finding the stone tonight.”

Garrett looked as though he were about to argue, before he nodded to himself.

“Are you sure about bringing me?” he asked eventually. “I don’t exactly... _blend_ well.”

“It’s better than leaving you here,” Corvo replied. “And you must have made your way around your fair share of noble houses. You’ll probably know more secrets about them than I will.” He paused for a moment, before an idea occurred to him. “It’s a costume ball, right?” he asked. “Well, what better costumes than the two most wanted men in the city?”

Garrett’s mouth quirked into a half smile, before he motioned to Corvo with his hand.

“Fine,” he said eventually. “Meet me at the boat. I need to get my things together.”

Corvo collected the now-cold mug of coffee that Garrett had left – clearly the man had been too distracted to finish it, and headed down to the ground floor of the Hound Pits, where Emily was quizzing Havelock about his days in the navy. He briefly wondered how she’d managed to escape Callista. At the bar, he met Pendleton, who stopped him.

“I hear you two are off to the Boyles’ little bash tonight,” he said. “I have just a tiny favour I’d like to ask you – could you give this note to Lord Shaw?” He reached into an inside pocket, producing a sealed envelope. Corvo wondered how he was supposed to recognise the man at a _masked party,_ but Pendleton appeared to anticipate the question.

“You’ll know him,” he said. “A rather brusque man, wearing a wolf’s mask. In fact, he may be looking for me.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Corvo told him, brushing past and heading for the boat, where Samuel and Garrett both waited, the latter now fully dressed in his usual attire. Thankfully, the smell of whale had dissipated from the leather, giving Corvo one less thing to worry about.

“The Boyle costume ball, eh?” Samuel asked, giving them both a knowing smile. “That’ll be fun.”

“Not for everybody,” Garrett muttered, as he climbed into the boat, mask clutched in one hand.

“Got your invite?” Corvo asked, joining him in the boat.

“It’s for one person. We need to figure out how to get both of us in,” Garrett replied.

“If the worst comes to the worst, I’m sure we can scale the wall or something. You’d probably be good at that.”

                                                                         

* * *

 

The Estate District was on the other side of the river from the Hound Pits; Corvo took the time to admire the view of the entire city while they crossed the Wrenhaven’s large expanse. Next to him, Garrett was turning his newly-acquired mask over in his hands. Corvo took a moment to look at the item. Bunting had clearly put a lot of his talent into it – it was designed to mimic a bird’s skull, down to the eye sockets and fine ridges of bone. Corvo wondered what bird he’d been trying to replicate. Whatever it was, it seemed strangely fitting to now be in Garrett’s hands.

The thief caught his gaze, and held the mask up to the light to study it better.

“A fine piece,” he said. “I’m not sure if it’s my style, though.”

“It’s going to have to be,” Corvo said, “your scarf isn’t going to cut it this time.”

Garrett nodded his assent, and the boat fell silent once more. Corvo decided now was the time to bring up something that he’d been thinking over for quite a while now.

“Garrett, what you said before, to Emily-” he began, but Garrett raised his hand, cutting him off.

“I know you heard it,” he said. “I saw you.”

Of course he had. He’d spotted Piero from two floors away, spying on Callista. A single wall wasn’t going to stop him; his gift from the Outsider was very powerful indeed.

“Why did you tell her what you did?” Corvo finally asked. Garrett hadn’t sounded too bothered that he’d known Corvo to be listening in to their conversation. Now he’d thought about it, he wasn’t sure what Garrett had intended with his revelations to Emily. Empathy? Or something to keep her sated in the troubling time? He’d warned her off the path of revenge, which he was grateful for, but to what end?

“She needs truth more than any sense of hope I could give her,” Garrett said. “She sees and hears a lot more than most would think. Children aren’t noticed, even high-born children like her. I certainly wasn’t noticed.”

His last sentence took on a bitter note, making Corvo wonder what his life had been like for him after his parents had been killed. Presumably, he would have been taken to an orphanage or an alms-house, a boy aged six was in no state to work, after all.

“I’m sorry,” he said eventually, unsure what else to say.

“What for?” Garrett asked, smirking. “My past, or for listening in? Or was my advice terrible?”

“No,” Corvo said, “it was good advice.” Part of him was starting to wonder whether Garrett had told the story for more than just Emily’s benefit.

“I’m not one to pry,” Samuel began, “but I figure that little girl needs some good figures in her life right now. Unorthodox as you are, Garrett, I think you are a good figure for Emily to look up to. Whatever you told her, I’m sure it was meant for the best.”

Garrett was silent, apparently shocked by Samuel’s words. Clearly he wasn’t used to the sort of praise being given to him. Corvo wondered if he saw Emily as a way to repent for his failings with Erin.

“Did you ever tell Erin that story?” he asked, causing Garrett to look up.

“No,” was the eventual reply. “She had her own history. She didn’t need mine.”

The boat had now reached the tributary that lead to the Estate District, and a hush fell over the small party as they travelled up the canal. High walls pressed down either side of them, creating a sense of closeness that jarred with the open space of the river they had just left.

 Garrett reached for his kohl box, once more applying it around his eyes.

“Aren’t you spreading that a bit... liberally?” Samuel asked, as Garrett applied more to his cheeks.

“I’m going to be wearing a mask,” Garrett said, “A mask with very large eye holes. My scarf doesn’t reach that high.”

Corvo could see Garrett’s reasoning, but he was glad that his mask covered his entire face.

“I’ll put it on when we’re actually there,” Garrett added, noticing Corvo put his own on. “It’s going to severely impair my vision otherwise.”

“Good grief,” Samuel said, looking away and up the canal. “The Lord Regent’s pulling out all the stops for the Boyle family. I didn’t think there’d be tallboys patrolling here tonight.”

“ _What now_?” Garrett asked. “Something _else_ that can vaporise me in an instant?”

Corvo didn’t have a chance to respond, as at that moment a tallboy appeared on the bridge above them. Officially known as ‘stilt-walkers’, a tallboy was essentially a guard on raised stilts, shielded from ground attack and carrying a compound bow armed with deadly fire arrows. Most people know not to cross them, and they were effective crowd control personnel. That being said, Corvo wasn’t particularly pleased to see them here tonight. It only made their job harder, after all.

“Watch yourselves,” Samuel warned. “They don’t fool around.”

As if to back up Samuel’s point, the tallboy in question fired its weapon, most likely at a group of weepers, or worse, simple citizens. Garrett peered at the bow the guardsman held.

“They use flaming ammunition with a tank of oil strapped to their backs?” he asked, spotting the eerie-yet-familiar glow of a tank surrounding the tallboy.

“The suits need power,” Corvo said simply. “As does the spotlight they use to search dark areas.”

Garrett huffed out a breath, pulling his scarf up as Samuel pulled up to a small jetty. With the additional kohl applied around his eyes, he looked even more like a shadow than ever. Corvo could see that once his mask was on, his features would be hidden completely; the only thing to give him away being a pale blue glow from his eye. Corvo hoped it wouldn’t be noticed.

As they mounted the steps into the district proper, an announcement rang out over the loudspeaker:

_“Attention citizens: Please clear the streets. This area is restricted to invited guests only, by request of the local landowners. Unauthorised intruders will be expelled or apprehended on sight.”_

“Charming,” Corvo commented, noting that their identities would probably only hold inside the party. Out here on the street, the two masked felons were most likely to attract the wrong kind of attention. Samuel had managed to get them pretty close to the Boyle Estate – closer than he had the day before on Kaldwin’s Bridge, at any rate. At the moment, they were in an area that wasn’t heavily patrolled – the tallboy was on the other side of the river and Corvo could see some guards further down the canal, nearer the bridge that crossed to the Estate proper.

“I vote we take our chances with the guards at ground level,” Garrett said, gesturing to the tallboy on the other side of the river. Corvo nodded his agreement. They could have to go along the canal front, underneath some arches to a small guard outpost.

He made to move, when a sound drew his attention. He turned his head slightly, frowning and focusing. The Heart had started to beat again, this time almost unnoticed. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Garrett frown at him as he turned slowly on the spot, trying to pinpoint the source.

“That building up there,” he said, pointing to a balcony across the street. “Can you see anyone inside?”

Garrett peered at the building in question. “Not from here,” he said. “If you can get us to the scaffolding I probably could.”

The scaffolding in question was in the middle of the street, but it was shrouded in darkness, meaning that they would still be fairly well-hidden from any guards. Once there, Garrett peered up at the building again, before making a small noise.

“Weepers,” he said. “Or drunks. I’m not sure which I’d prefer. Why do you want to go in there?”

Now that they were closer to the building, the steady beat of the Heart had grown stronger and louder. Corvo wondered if it was worth the risk, before deciding that he could most likely handle a few Weepers. He just hoped that they didn’t throw up on him; _that_ would be difficult to explain at the party.

“How are they spread out?” Corvo asked, ignoring the last question. Garrett would see soon enough, after all.

“There’s one walking out onto the balcony, and then a small group at the stairs,” Garrett replied. “The one on the balcony is turning away...” he paused for a few seconds, “now.”

Corvo took the chance immediately, blinking them both up to the balcony and drawing his crossbow, dispatching the Weeper with a sleep dart. The small group Garrett had mentioned were nowhere to be seen, the man pointed to the floor below them, indicating they were not in the current vicinity. As long as they were quiet, they wouldn’t arouse any suspicion.

The apartment was dilapidated, and one of the rooms was covered in graffiti, simply the word _dreary_ over and over. Another message was scrawled on the floor.

“ _You asked me to decide. You asked me to do it. There’s a hole in the world,”_ Garrett read. “This place gets stranger the more I see of it.”

Corvo was frowning at the words written on the wall. “I think this place belonged to Granny Rags,” he said eventually. “The woman we saw outside the Golden Cat. The Outsider told me she was once from a noble family, and the writing _does_ strike me as something she’d say.”

“The two guards at the end of the street were talking about her,” Garrett confirmed. “They said she sold her family to the Outsider. I thought religion in _my_ city was complicated.”

Corvo smirked, heading to the shrine in the apartment and gazing at it for a moment. Out of the window next to it, he could see the Boyle Estate, lit with lanterns and the occasional firework. A piece of graffiti proclaimed _‘Esma Boyle is a rutting hound!’_

When he reached for the rune, the world around him almost _shuddered,_ something that hadn’t occurred before. After a moment, it passed, and Corvo wasn’t sure if Garrett had noticed anything. Once more, the Outsider emerged from a jet black vortex.

“Going to a party, gentlemen?” he asked, before addressing Corvo. “Is that what you dreamed of, all those months in Coldridge Prison while waiting for the executioner?” he asked, before turning to Garrett. “Or you, as you trod the stones of the Undercity, following the path of the Graven? Wealth, beautiful women in the latest fashions laughing and drinking Tyvian wine?

“And what of the host, Lady Boyle?” the Outsider continued, fixing his gaze on them both. “I can see all her tomorrows and I know that either she dies tonight by your hand or she’ll live out her days, month after month, year after year, far away, even as her fine clothes wear into tatters and her silken hair gets dull and grey. Half the city can see the lights from the party, and they dream of the delights inside. Will you tear it all to pieces? Either way, it’s Lady Boyle’s _last_ party.”

“He gives a speech about the fate of this Lady Boyle and not once does he tell us _which_ one it is?” Garrett asked, after the Outsider disappeared back into the Void. Corvo had to admit the man had a point, but the Outsider _had_ revealed that some other way to remove Lady Boyle was going to present itself. That being said, it didn’t exactly sound pleasant, but Corvo knew the measure would have to be an extreme one to ensure that the Regent was cut off from his funds entirely.

They climbed out of the window, coming to stand on a rooftop that overlooked the Boyle Estate and the canal. From their vantage point, Corvo could see two guards by the main bridge, as well as another tallboy patrolling the bridge and the street together. After waiting a short while, and a motion from Garrett (Corvo deferred to the man who did this thing for a living), they hurried across the bridge, out of sight of both the tallboys. It was only a short climb over the fence to the Boyle estate, aided by some crates.

Garrett lingered in the shadows by the gate for a moment, removing his bow and quiver, followed by his cloak. For a moment, Corvo wondered what he was going, but he fixed the bow to the small of his back, along with the quiver, before replacing the cloak over the top, concealing them.

“Good idea,” Corvo noted, as Garrett rearranged the cloak over himself to disguise his outfit a little more. He then put the mask on. Paired with the additional kohl and his scarf, Garrett looked every part the party guest.

“Now we just need to get in,” he said, “should be easy, considering that lady there has just dropped her invite.” He nodded up the street, where a woman in a pink suit and extremely ornate mask chased after the paper, only to be called off by her friends. Clearly she wasn’t too concerned about the loss of her invitation, and after a moment Corvo sauntered over to the spot and discretely picked up the paper. When he turned around, he almost dropped it in shock, for a few feet away stood Bunting, the art dealer, smoking a cigarette and looking _furious._ Corvo quickly stepped back to Garrett.

“Careful of the art dealer,” he said. “He may notice his mask.”

“Unlikely,” Garrett said, but Corvo noticed he made sure to skirt the man anyway. “Nobles are usually preoccupied with trying to recoup the money lost than the item itself.”

The doorman barely gave them a second glance as he took their invitations, before waving them through. Corvo was inwardly relieved that a fight hadn’t occurred at the front door.

“Look at that mask,” he heard the doorman mutter to the other guard as they passed through. “Sick bastard.”

_Perhaps ‘dressing up’ as the Masked Felon wasn’t my best idea,_ Corvo thought. Even Garrett appeared to be thinking the same thing.

Upon reaching the causeway, they approached another pair of guests, who were discussing how dull the theme of the party was – apparently there was a contest to guess which member of the Boyle family was which. Upon spotting Corvo and Garrett, the pair’s discussion halted.

“Oh my, that’s wicked!” a woman in a purple suit exclaimed. “Who made that mask for you? It’s exactly like the wanted posters!”

“That’s going to cast a pall over the whole evening,” her male companion said. “I think I’m starting to enjoy myself.”

_Tonight the nobles try and conceal their indiscretions behind masks and costumes,_ the Heart informed him as the pair walked away. Clearly this party was all for show, an attempt at normality while the city outside was ravaged by plague and political upheaval.

“If you spot a man in a wolf mask, let me know,” Corvo said, recalling Pendleton’s request. Garrett raised his head, looking around.

“This mask is infuriating,” he complained, “I suggest we do what we’ve come here to do quickly.”

They headed up a set of stairs, coming to a garden, where a man stood smoking, flanked by a pair of guards. Corvo saw that thankfully, it was Lord Shaw – the wolf mask was unmistakable.

“Yes?” he asked, in such a manner that he believed Corvo to be beneath him. He clearly wasn’t impressed by the mask. Behind him, Garrett folded his arms, leaning against the wall nearby.

“This is a note from Lord Treavor Pendleton,” Corvo said, passing the sealed envelope.

“Pendleton, hm?” Shaw asked, unfolding the letter. “What’s he got to say to me?”

Whatever it was, it clearly didn’t go down well, as Shaw tossed the note aside.

“Pendleton is a _gutless,_ lying sack of shit,” he fumed. “I hope he’s paying you well for this.”

He headed away, down the stairs, giving Corvo the impression he was supposed to follow. With a gesture, he motioned for Garrett to stay where he was, the thief nodded his assent, simply watching.

“It’s damned cold tonight,” Shaw complained. “Hurry up and let’s see what you’re made of.”

They came to a pedestal, whereupon sat an ornate wooden box. One of the guards (presumably hired by Shaw) opened it.

“Lord Pendleton’s representative will select his weapon,” he said, revealing the two similarly ornate pistols.

_Great,_ Corvo thought. _Not only do they use me to carry out political assassinations, now I have to act on Pendleton’s behalf in a duel._ He knew he could refuse the duel, but then that would cast Pendleton in a bad light among the nobles, something that probably wasn’t needed right now, considering his fragile political standing.

He selected a pistol, feeling its weight in his hand and checking it was loaded. It was of fine make, and the sights were accurate.

“A contest of honour will take place between this anonymous gentleman acting for the challenger, Lord Treavor Pendleton, and Lord Shaw, the challenged party,” the guard proclaimed. An official statement generally used for such a situation, although it had been quite a while since Corvo had even _seen_ a duel, let alone entered one. He was more used to combat with swords than pistols, but he was confident in his ability.

“You will each turn and proceed to the marked positions,” the guard continued, gesturing to the stone circles on the floor between them, “and remain facing away from each other as I count down from three. You may then turn and fire at will-“

“Get _on_ with it,” Shaw interrupted, taking his own pistol. “I’ll kill this fool and we can all go back inside.”

“Sorry m’lord,” the guard gave a short bow. “We shall proceed.”

Standing on the small stone circle, Corvo actually felt a pang of nervousness as the guard counted down. He spotted Garrett in his peripheral vision, watching, but not interfering. He guessed it wasn’t Garrett’s style to get involved in duels for honour. The guard counted down, and as he reached one Corvo felt a rush of adrenaline, and then something else entirely, something _more_ than just adrenaline _._ The brand on his left hand flared briefly, and when he turned fully he found the world around him to have halted completely. He faltered for a moment, forgetting where he was, entranced by the changes around him. It was night, yet right now the world looked like it had drained of colour, like an object left to sit in the sun for too long. He cast a glance up to Garrett, who now resembled a dark shadow – except for his eye, which glowed brighter than anything else in his sight. Just within earshot, numerous voices whispered, speaking in a language Corvo did not understand, and underneath it all there was a low roar, something ancient and modern at the same time. He felt like he’d placed one foot into the Void, a place where there was infinite stillness and a constant surging energy at the same time.

Corvo realised that it was the same surge he’d felt earlier when picking up the rune. The Outsider had clearly felt it was time to give him a new gift. Corvo wondered if he’d foreseen this duel.

The whispers were growing louder, the roar more insistent, and Corvo took it to mean that his time in this slowed-down reality was growing short. He raised the pistol, taking a clear aim, and fired.

The echo of the shot ricocheted around him, and time instantly sped up again. Shaw didn’t even get a chance to loose his own shot as he was hit full force in the chest by Corvo’s bullet. Corvo felt a pang of sympathy for the man, but he knew that this was his only option. Shaw hadn’t exactly seemed like a pleasant man, anyway.

_He is wealthy and wears fine clothing,_ the Heart supplied, as if to comfort him, _but underneath all men look the same._

“And that’s another patron dead,” one of Shaw’s guards said, checking over the body. “What do we do now?” he asked his companion.

“It’s lucky we’re in demand. I hear the Estermonts pay top coin.”

“No use trying them tonight. Let’s see if we can find a little brandy. Let the Boyles clean up this mess.”

The two guards moved away after that, and Garrett slowly moved down the steps, joining Corvo as he stood over the man’s body.

“Did you just fight a duel for _Pendleton’s_ honour?” he asked. Corvo could almost hear him smiling.

“It would have been nice if he’d let me in on it,” Corvo grumbled, before indicating with his head. “Looks like the party’s that way. There’s nothing we can do here. Like the guards said, let the Boyles handle this.”

“What happened?” Garrett asked quietly as they retraced their steps to the main courtyard, following the pair of guards who were now discussing the prospect of whiskey and cigars. “You- something happened,” he said. “You _looked_ different.”

“Looks like those shrines finally paid off,” Corvo said, quieter than usual. “I’ll explain later,” he added. He didn’t want their conversation to be heard, especially not with guards and possibly the odd Overseer lurking. Garrett seemed to get his meaning, for he nodded, movement accentuated by his mask.

Inside the Boyle Manor, it was like stepping into another world. Opulence was all around them, and several speakers played music, while small cannons fired confetti. Corvo saw many nobles, all in varying masks, and also a lot of guards. There was even an Overseer. Next to him, Garrett shifted on his feet, uncomfortable already in the bright interior.

“You’d blend in better if you didn’t look as if you were ready to bolt at any moment,” he muttered to the shorter man.

“I _am_ ready to bolt at any moment,” Garrett replied through gritted teeth, giving Corvo a momentary spark of amusement.

“Pretend it’s a job,” Corvo told him. “You’re mingling with the crowd because you’re going to pick their pockets. Except you’re _not_ going to do that.”

“Try and stop me,” Garrett replied, and Corvo smiled, pleased that his plan to set the man at ease had actually worked. He cast a glance across the room, a small table near the door drawing his eye. On it was a guest ledger, containing all the names of the guests at the party. For a moment, he paused, before picking up the pen and signing a name.

_Corvo Attano._

Garrett looked down at the written name, a snort emerging from behind the mask.

“Give me that,” he muttered, taking the pen and scrawling another name below Corvo’s. Corvo had to repress a laugh when he saw what Garrett had chosen to write down.

_The Outsider._

“If you’re quite done,” Garrett said, turning the pen over in his hand and subtly pocketing it, “I think we have a woman to find.”

“Of course,” Corvo replied, gesturing with his hand to the hall before them. “I suggest we talk to the guests, see what we can find.”

“We could always just sneak upstairs and read their diaries,” Garrett said. “Do people here keep diaries? I always thought it to be pretentious. Useful for working out where the valuables are hidden, but pretentious.”

“If you can find a way past the Wall of Light without drawing attention, be my guest,” Corvo said. Garrett seemed to peer at the stairs for a moment.

“Noble houses like this always have a servant’s staircase,” he said. “Probably near the kitchen or dining room to allow food to travel easily between without the staff having to go through the front rooms.”

“You mean the one with the Overseer stood next to it?” Corvo asked as they entered a room with a long table covered in the most exquisite food Corvo had seen in a while. He thought back to his somewhat meagre meal earlier and the lavish spread here. In here, you could almost forget that the whole city was crumbling outside.

_Don’t be fooled if you hear laughter, or happen upon a smile,_ The Heart whispered. _There is no lightness or merriment here._

Well, at least the Heart was reminding him otherwise.

The Overseer was stood by a door that did indeed lead to a staircase; Corvo could see another guard in the staircase area proper, as well as a maid heading down to what was presumably the kitchen. Strapped to the Overseer’s chest was a large, metal contraption with a crank handle. Corvo had heard of the devices before, but he’d not actually seen one – a music box capale of disrupting magic. One part of him wondered if they actually _worked,_ but another part told him they did, considering the Outsider’s inability to get into the Overseer compound and retrieve Garrett.

“We should split up,” Corvo said eventually. “You take the rooms near the back of the house, I’ll look around here. Listen to the guests and see if you can get anything from them.”

Garrett nodded his assent, turning and heading towards the music room and beyond. Although he was making an effort to not appear conspicuous, his outfit alone was drawing the attention of most of the guests – as was Corvo’s. Twice he almost caused a maid to leap in fright upon turning and seeing him.

“Scary mask!” one of them breathed, hurrying away towards the stairs to the kitchen.

After five minutes of so-called mingling, Corvo was beginning to remember why he disliked formal events. He’d seen all three of the Boyle women, one wearing black, one in red, and the last in white; but there was no indication as to which one was which. Or, for that matter, who was Burrows’ mistress. He wondered why such a woman would associate themselves with such a despicable man, but he supposed there were few ways women could earn their seats of power. Jessamine had been both fortunate and shrewd enough to realise how lucky she was to have kept her position.

In one of the rooms, he came upon two of the guests in deep discussion. One of them sounded rather unhappy; Corvo wondered whether he regretted his choice of mask, for the whale really _didn’t_ do him any favours. The woman, wearing a moth mask, was much more cheerful, admonishing the man for resenting Corvo’s approach.

“It’s a _party,”_ she said. “It’s called mingling!”

“Mingle all you want then,” Whale mask said. “We’ll speak later.”

He left Corvo and the woman alone after that, and she soon turned to him, glee in her voice.

“You’re a scandal in that mask,” she told him. “I like a man with poor judgement. Would you get me a drink?” she asked. “I’d be so grateful.”

Corvo noted that if this guest liked to mingle so much, she probably knew a lot about the others around them. And if getting her a drink was what it cost, he could bear the short walk to the drinks fountain. With a short bow, he left, swiftly getting her a glass of the punch. As he returned and handed her the glass, he wondered how she would drink it through the mask. She didn’t reveal it, instead swilling the drink in her hand.

“Now, how can I thank you?” she wondered aloud. “Are you playing Lady Boyle’s guessing game?” she asked. “Well, I know for a fact Waverly’s in black tonight,” she said. “In mourning for her reputation, I expect.”

It was always the same with nobles. They chatted amicably and laughed at parties, but once someone’s back was turned they were worse than a gang of thieves.

“Additionally,” Moth mask added, “Lydia’s in red...”

Corvo thanked the woman for her time, swiftly leaving in search of Garrett. Now he knew which Boyle was which, he just didn’t know _who_ he was here for. He hoped Garrett had had some good luck. As he searched, he passed one of the Boyles, Esma, in white.

His search for Garrett didn’t take long, as the man appeared at the far end of the corridor. He motioned with his head the music room, which was mostly empty aside from the odd servant.

“I know who your target is,” Garrett told him, voice somewhat grim. “There’s a man in the room next door. Brisby, wearing a mask that I _think_ is meant to be a rat. Suits him, anyway. Apparently, he’s a friend of Pendleton’s and a backer of your little conspiracy. And he just so happens to be in love with our doomed Lady Boyle.”

“He’s the other option the Outsider mentioned,” Corvo summarised.

“Yes,” Garrett said. “If we can bring Esma Boyle to the cellar, Brisby will make sure she’s never seen again.”

Behind his mask, Corvo made a face. He knew the implications of Brisby’s request, he knew it would probably be more merciful to kill Esma and be done with it. Murder was not a crime that would go unnoticed, and he knew it would have serious repercussions to the city if Esma Boyle was killed hosting her own party. If she went missing? Well, it would take longer for the guards to find out.

“This is your decision,” Garrett said. “These are the people who funded your downfall, after all. As much as I may dislike it, it _is_ yours to make.”

One the one hand, Corvo was grateful for Garrett’s support. On the other, he now had the knowledge that whatever he was to decide, it was _his_ decision alone, and he would carry all the guilt for it. Garrett was right, however, Esma Boyle was the money behind the Regent, and while she was still around they would be unable to make a move.

“We take her to Brisby,” Corvo said finally, regretfully. “Esma Boyle got her power through murder. I’ll not grant her the same luxury.”

Garrett said nothing, merely nodded his assent. “Now we just need to find her,” he said, tone neutral. Corvo wondered if he agreed with the decision.

“She’s in white,” Corvo told him. “I met a woman who knew what colour they were wearing for the guessing game the three have going on. I’ll talk to her; see if I can make her follow me somewhere more private.”

Corvo just managed to catch a glimpse of Garrett raising an eyebrow behind his mask. He ignored it, instead heading out into the main body of the party and looking for Esma. Garrett lingered a short way behind, following, but not making it obvious he was doing so.

He found her in the entrance hall, mingling with a few guests and disdainfully commenting on the outfit of one; Corvo felt a pang of sympathy for the woman. Up close, he found himself rather unsettled by the expressionless, featureless visage of the mask she was wearing, but he supposed that was the point to make the guessing game harder.

_When there are teeth marks on her skin, she is careful to dress away from servant's prying eyes._

Corvo was glad this was a masked party; otherwise Esma probably would have caught his face twitch at the Heart’s statement.

“May I get you a drink?” he asked Esma, keeping his tone cordial and neutral.

“I’m already seeing two of you, but thanks anyway,” was the reply, her tone hinting that she was already fairly inebriated. Still, Corvo persevered. He hoped the Heart’s information was what it implied to be.

“Maybe we’d have more privacy in your chambers, Lady Esma,” he said, making sure he addressed her by name.

It appeared to work, for although he couldn’t see her face, Esma Boyle sounded very pleased by his idea.

“Well done, sir,” she praised. “And that sounds lovely. Why don’t you come with me?”

Corvo had expected that to be a lot more difficult. He dutifully followed Esma, also noticing Garrett shadowing the pair of them. Esma lead him to the servant’s staircase, where he passed by the Overseer and the other guard – the latter giving him an almost envious look as they moved up the staircase.

“You know, I have a dirty little secret,” Esma confessed as they ascended the stairs. “You can’t _imagine_ who I’m seeing. I mean, if people only knew! But I’m only doing it to insure the family name. It’s too dangerous right now not to have proper connections.”

Corvo felt a pang of sympathy for Esma Boyle. True, she funded the Lord Regent, but she was right in that an unconnected noble in Dunwall would be easily removed. Political movement in a troubled time was second nature to a lot of nobles, and this time was no different. Esma most likely didn’t even know how her money was used; she just knew that she would be safe as long as she was in bed with the most powerful man in the city. Or, at least, she thought she would be.

“Truthfully, if I could get free of him, I would. You’re more my type. Mysterious, silent, self-composed. I do believe this is going to be a _fabulous_ evening.”

By this point, they had entered what was presumably Esma’s bedroom, although he wouldn’t put it past the woman to purposefully use the bed of her sister. Corvo moved quickly, while her back was turned, taking a sleep dart meant to go into his crossbow and injecting it into Esma’s neck. He caught her as she toppled over, placing her on the bed in front of him.

“The way she followed you, she almost deserved that,” a voice said from behind him; Corvo turned to see Garrett lingering in the doorway. He reached up, removing his bird mask. “I can’t see a thing in this contraption,” he said. “And I get the feeling we’ll be leaving soon.”

“How did you get past the guard?” Corvo asked him, as Garrett threw the mask onto the bed, before looking intently around the room. He moved across to the far side, near the door.

“One of the guests was suddenly overcome with an extreme bout of nausea,” Garrett said. “There may have been a mix of sulphur and quicklime placed into his drink. In any case, he threw up all over the buffet table.”

Corvo snuffed a laugh as Garrett moved along the wood-panelled side of the room, carefully inspecting the various paintings and the wall itself. Near the door, he paused, before reaching for a sash that hung from the ceiling.

“Nice,” the thief said, as a wood panel near the ceiling opened. “I won’t be a moment.” He quickly scaled the wall, using the panels as support, before disappearing into the hole. Corvo huffed, a short, annoyed breath; Garrett’s tendency to deviate from the plan for the sake of _loot_ was infuriating.

_He once stole to live. He now lives to steal,_ the Heart said, almost making him jump. He supposed that considering thievery was indeed the only job Garrett knew, he could let him have this moment.

In any case, Garrett quickly reappeared.

“The famous Boyle Cameo,” he said, holding an item up, before making the short leap to the floor. He landed softly; Corvo was able to appreciate the soft leather shoes he wore, there was virtually no sound as he landed. Corvo’s boots would not have been as quiet.

“I’ll go first,” Garrett offered, pocketing the cameo. Corvo wondered what else he’d managed to pilfer while he’d been exploring the establishment. He didn’t ask, instead lifting Esma Boyle onto his shoulder. She snored gently in his ear, and he grimaced in sympathy for her uncertain future. It couldn’t be helped. He would either have to kill her, or do _this._ Surely, in the long term, it was more merciful?

He wasn’t sure if he even believed _himself._

Halfway down the stairs, Garrett stopped, peering at the boards below them, before swearing quietly.

“The Overseer and two of the guards have decided to have a conversation in the stairwell, so they can watch for unsavoury people,” he said, before apparently coming to a decision. “When you hear them leave, get to the basement and give her to Brisby. Make your way back up and find me. We’ll probably have to leave _quickly_ ,” he added.

He moved away, back up the stairs, leaving Corvo stranded and wondering just _what_ he was going to do. He considered trying his newfound ability to stop time, but he didn’t really know how to activate it. It wasn’t natural, like the first power given to him – he just _felt_ and moved. Stopping time was different, stranger, and he wasn’t yet used to it. He didn’t exactly want the world to speed up while he was right next to the small crowd of guards, after all.

He became aware that _something_ was happening by a commotion from the dining hall, followed by the sounds of swords being drawn and the guards leaving the stairwell. The area around Corvo was silent, and he waited a moment before creeping down the stairs. Thankfully, there was nobody in the kitchen, and soon he was negotiating the many racks of wine and other liquor to where Brisby was waiting with his boat. Corvo decided he was going to have to remain as unfeeling as possible. He could do that, he’d managed it in Coldridge, after all.

“You found her!” the man exclaimed, an almost unreasonable amount of joy in his tone. “Quickly, let’s get her into the boat.”

Corvo handed the woman to Brisby, where he laid her down with the utmost care and attention. Upon making sure she was secured, he turned back to Corvo.

“You’ll never know how happy you’ve made me,” he said. “Someday she’ll learn to appreciate me. After all,” he added, a bitter note coming into his voice, “she’ll have her whole life.”

The boat quickly left, but the unsettling feeling in Corvo’s stomach didn’t. He put it out of his mind, instead focusing on finding Garrett, who was most likely still causing a commotion on the upper floors.

When he reached the ground floor, he was assailed by a wash of noise. People shouting – loudly – a woman screaming and something else, underneath it all, that made Corvo’s hair stand on end. He crept into the dining room, noting that it was virtually devoid of people, except for a maid cowering in the corner. He noticed that a lot of the dishes of food were scattered on the floor, leaving dark stains in various places. Moving through the somewhat eerily empty room – the noise was further away – Corvo was beginning to get further and further concerned for Garrett. When he reached the source of the commotion, he slowed, halting at a doorframe and peering round.

The entrance hall was filled with guards, all stood in a vague circle. Nobles lingered at the edge, peering over the arrayed guard’s shoulders, whispering and shouting alike. Corvo saw a pair of feet laid flat out. He couldn’t see a face from his position, but he recognised the uniform of an Overseer. At the centre, stood another Overseer, cranking the handle of the music box strapped to his chest. The air around it almost rippled with the disturbance caused. _Looking_ at the box, Corvo could already feel discomfort, as if his strength were draining for him. He felt, rather than saw, the brand on his left hand stutter, attempting to resist, but failing. Corvo wasn’t even in _front_ of the device, not like Garrett was.

Garrett was kneeling in the middle of the hall, one hand clutched to the right side of his face. Corvo realised that he’d left his mask in Esma Boyle’s room. He wondered if it was intentional, as he also saw Garrett’s bow was back in its proper place on his back. Better to actually look like the masked miscreant than someone attempting to be a copy, Corvo supposed. Right now, however, he was worried. The Overseer device was working against Garrett, and Corvo could _feel_ its influence from his position near the stairwell, where the Wall of Light hummed with energy. His head pounded, and he was having trouble standing up straight. He could only imagine what Garrett must be experiencing, directly within range of the device. Corvo knew he wouldn’t be able to help without causing a lot of mess, something he didn’t want to do with men simply doing their jobs. There was also no telling what would happen if he couldn’t disrupt the Overseer’s device somehow.

“Drop the weapon, hagfish,” one of the guards said. “We’ll go easy on you if you do.”

Corvo saw that Garrett was indeed holding a weapon – his Claw – but he didn’t seem to be in a fit state to use it. With some effort, he looked up, through the crowd of guards, and Corvo saw Garrett’s gaze come to rest on him. At that point, his eyes roved back to the Overseer looming over him. Although he appeared to still be in pain, he lowered his hands, bringing them down to the floor, eyes still fixed on the Overseer.

“Sorry gentlemen,” Garrett ground out, apparently with some effort. “But I’ve got places to be.”

Somehow, and Corvo didn’t know how, Garrett stood, forcing himself upright. In the same movement, he thrust his arm forward, embedding the Claw deep within the metalwork of the Overseer’s music box. Instantly the unsettling sound of the device halted, and was instead replaced with a clanging and shrieking of metal upon metal. Garrett reeled backwards, withdrawing the weapon and dealing the Overseer a swift kick to the groin, putting him out of action, while at the same time stumbling against the door. Corvo got the message. As soon as he saw Garrett’s hand turn on the handle, he blinked to the thief’s side, and together they managed to slam the door shut before any of the guards made it outside.

“Was that Overseer covered in _jelly?”_ Corvo asked, as muffled thumps echoed on the other side of the door. He was _sure_ he’d seen the Overseer with a definite green tinge to his mask.

“There was a mishap at the food table,” Garrett said, words quiet and slow to come, one hand pressed to his right eye again. Corvo realised the device must have taken a great toll on him, especially considering he’d then been able to resist it.

“Come on,” Corvo told him, grabbing hold of his arm and pulling him from the door. “Let’s go.”

They sprinted down into the gardens, across to where the body of Lord Shaw still lay, along with the unfired pistol. Acting on instinct, Corvo took Garrett’s arm, and blinked, sending them high above the wall. The pair had a momentary sensation of falling from a great height, before Corvo blinked a second time in succession, bringing them down to the canal side. Garrett’s knees buckled slightly with the landing, but he remained upright.

“That was different,” he commented, before his eyes fell on the canal. Corvo followed his gaze, to where the three tallboys now patrolled. He bit back a curse.

“We’ll move fast. Samuel’s probably moved the boat further down the canal,” he reasoned, the thief nodding his agreement.

In theory, Corvo supposed the tallboy would be too interested in what was _in_ the canal instead of on the opposite bank. But, at that point, a loud commotion arose from the garden of the Boyle Estate as the Watch managed to find its way out. The pair froze as the high-powered beam emitted by the tallboy found them both.

At that point Corvo acted on instinct, bringing his left hand up and _pulling._ Somehow, and he didn’t know how, it had its intended effect – the world slowed to a halt. Hoping the thief wouldn’t mind too much (time _was_ of the essence, after all), Corvo hoisted Garrett onto his shoulder, before transporting them across the canal; a gap he wasn’t sure if they would cross without ending up in the water. Thankfully, they did. As the roaring in Corvo’s ears got louder, the whispers more insistent, he moved them a second time, past the canal gate, and then leaping into Samuel’s boat. As they fell through the air, the world righted itself again, and Corvo then had the jarring sensation of both him and Garrett hitting the boat, almost capsizing it.

Garrett seemed to recover from the shock of being on one side of the canal in one moment to in a boat the next, but he made somewhat of a frantic scramble to actually seat himself. Samuel was surprised too, but he held his tongue as Corvo gripped the side of the boat, his head attempting to right itself again. The sounds of the guards now mingled with the one on the tallboy screaming he’d seen a ghost.

“This party was terrible,” Garrett summarised, leaning his head against the wood panelling of the boat as Samuel backed them up the canal. He closed his eyes, clearly exhausted from his previous exertions.

“It was going well until you threw jelly on an Overseer,” Corvo replied, removing his mask to rub his own eyes. Apparently using his powers in rapid succession wasn’t good for his spirit, or whatever it was that powered them.

Garrett snorted. “Then you probably won’t like the bit where I leapt off the second floor balcony onto the Overseer in the entrance way. The jelly was collateral damage.”

“Sounds like you boys enjoyed your evening,” Samuel commented as they reached the open expanse of the Wrenhaven once more.

“Someone did,” Corvo said, looking out onto the river, mind dwelling on another boat that would be crossing it tonight.

* * *

 

(*) A picture of Garrett's mask for the Boyle Party can be found [here.](https://img0.etsystatic.com/022/0/8237738/il_570xN.499898378_rei3.jpg) 

 

EDIT:

Artwork by tumblr user [sneaky-taffer](http://sneaky-taffer.tumblr.com/):  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't tell who I feel more sorry for, Lady Boyle or Sokolov, after the dressing-down Garrett gave him.  
> I'm going to say it now, because I don't know when I'll next update, but on the 29/09 term starts at my university again, so after that I don't know how often I'll be able to update. Hopefully it won't impact too much, at least, not at the start of term, if I'm quick about my updates and don't procrastinate it. We'll see.  
> Credit for Garrett's backstory (at least, the murdered parents bit) goes to lorca-the-great, you should totally check out their fic "Shadow Borne", which is that story. As for Garrett's non-revenge bit, that's all me.
> 
> I think that's all, if you have any questions about the fic at all, please feel free to ask! As ever, comments/kudos are powerful soul food.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You know, the last time I was at a structure like this one-“ he began, but Corvo cut him off.  
> “Let me guess, it caught fire and collapsed,” he said.  
> “It didn’t collapse, at least not completely,” Garrett said. “But it was on fire.”  
> “What was it?” Samuel asked.  
> “The Baron’s Keep,” Garrett replied. “He’d taken my fence prisoner. And there was a safe the size of a room in there. That did collapse.”  
> “Must be a miracle that everything we’ve touched so far hasn’t, then,” Corvo said.  
> “The night is young,” Garrett replied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First things first. I'm very sorry this chapter is so late. I never intended to leave it this long, but as I said in my last, I started my first semester of my second year at uni, and when you have thousands of words in essays about Ancient Egypian cosmetic bowls to write, other things to write are just less... appealing. I had intended to finish this before Christmas, but I got Dragon Age: Inquisition and... well, you know how things go. I hope everyone had a great Christmas and new years; consider this a late gift.  
> Thank you so much for your patience regarding this. I hope this chapter makes up for the wait.

Dawn encroached on them as they crossed the river, as did the mist, shrouding the boat in its ethereal hue. The tower in the Hound Pits loomed over them as Samuel turned the boat into the small culvert that made up the dock. They’d not spoken of much on their way back from the Boyle Estate – Garrett appeared to have permanently glued his hand to the side of his head and Corvo was nursing a headache of his own.

“Lord Pendleton said he would meet us here,” Samuel said. “I’d check the wine cellar. Losing family gives a man a thirst.”

“While you’re there, ask him what his plan was if you’d been killed in the duel he sent you to fight,” Garrett added, as the boat halted by the dockside.

“What are you going to do?” Corvo asked, stepping off the boat. He turned as the thief slowly followed him.

“Find something to get rid of this headache,” Garrett said, heading up the steps and into the bar area of the Hound Pits.

Samuel’s prediction was correct; Pendleton was indeed in the wine cellar when Corvo found him.

“You did it,” he began, sounding impressed. “And now we’ve done away with a woman, and a noblewoman at that, but Boyle was a viper.”

Corvo wondered what exactly it was Pendleton had against women exactly. He decided not to ask, lest he be on the receiving end of a long speech from the man. He didn’t think his headache would stand it.

“She helped the Lord Regent kill the Empress, so I don’t feel a thing for her,” Pendleton continued. Corvo inwardly wished he could feel the same, but he knew his decision concerning Esma Boyle would sit wrong with him for a long time.

“Personally, I heard you upheld my name in a rather spectacular style and at some risk to yourself. I want to thank you for it.”

Corvo held up his hand. He felt that the Outsider had rewarded him much better than Pendleton ever could. “Don’t bother,” he said. “Just, warn me what I’m going in for next time.”

Pendleton was silent for a moment, before he nodded his head. “Of course. You’ve had a long night, Corvo, but I fear it’s not over. Havelock and Martin have already cooked up something more for you. They would like to see you now, in Havelock’s chambers above the bar.”

Corvo noticed the deliberate exclusion of Garrett, but he didn’t press it; simply bidding goodbye to Pendleton and leaving him in the wine cellar. He decided that he should probably find the thief before joining Havelock and Martin – no matter how much the men disliked him, Corvo knew Garrett’s infiltration expertise could be paramount on their next outing.

At the bar, he didn’t find Garrett, but he did see Callista sitting in one of the booths, leafing through a book she presumably used for teaching Emily.

“Corvo?” she asked, as he approached. “Emily’s hiding again,” she said, exasperated. Corvo smiled, recalling Emily’s favourite pastime at the tower. “It started as a game, but it’s turned into her way of teasing me. I asked Garrett to look for her when he came through here, but he hasn’t come back yet so I assume he’s still looking. If you see her, would you send her back to me? It’s time for her studies.”

“That’s _probably_ why she’s not coming back,” Corvo said, earning him a soft smile. “I’ll look for her,” he added. “But Garrett should have found her easily enough.” He made to turn away, but a thought struck him, and he turned back to Callista.

“What’s your opinion on Garrett?” he asked, curious. He didn’t know how much the rest of the occupants of the Hound Pits knew of the man, but surely they’d formed their own conclusions in any case.

Callista was silent for a moment, clearly thinking her words through.

“Emily is very taken with him,” she said. “As for my own opinion, I do not know enough of the man. He is strange – even you must know that – in both looks and mannerisms. I don’t think he expects people to treat him as they treat you, and he’s happier for it, proud to be different to us. Whether that is a good thing I cannot tell. From what Emily has told me of him, he dislikes being in the spotlight, and his motivations are unclear – at least to me. Whatever they are, I can only hope he stays true to them.”

Corvo nodded at Callista’s assessment, and turned to leave in search of Emily.

“I believe he’s a good man,” Callista said suddenly. “But I don’t think _he_ believes it.”

Corvo found that he agreed with Callista’s summary as he headed out onto the street in search of Emily. While she was not party to the same information as him, what little she’d learned of Garrett had proved to be accurate. Garrett was a man confident in his abilities as a thief, but not so in his ability as an advocate for the people. He resented it, as far as Corvo could tell. A man who had spent so long in shadow, he was now unwilling to step into the light.

He was also apparently _very_ good at hiding, and if he’d found Emily then it was likely they were still together. As far as Corvo could tell, Emily was the only person Garrett was comfortable associating with, despite her status.

He eventually found them huddled at the base of Emily’s tower; Garrett sat on an upturned desk, the girl on the floor. They looked up as Corvo approached.

“Don’t make a sound!” Emily whispered. “I’m hiding from Callista. It’s a game we like to play.”

Corvo raised an eyebrow, recalling the many games of hide and seek played at Dunwall Tower.

“What are _you_ doing?” he asked Garrett.

“Giving her tips on better places to hide,” the man replied easily. “The white clothing isn’t helpful at all,” he added. “You should wear darker colours.”

“ _Please_ don’t give her tips on how to hide,” Corvo muttered, causing Garrett to smirk. “I think Callista would kill me herself.”

“I don’t know why it’s so much fun to hide from her,” Emily said.

“It’s more fun than lessons?” Corvo asked. Emily giggled.

“I found this at the edge of the river,” she said suddenly, turning to Garrett and reaching into her pocket. “I put it under my pillow for good luck, but it gave me bad dreams. You can have it, as a present for helping me hide.”

She handed Garrett an item, before stepping past Corvo.

“I suppose I’ll do my lessons now,” she said, somewhat sheepishly. “Hiding gets boring after a while, anyway.”

As she left, Corvo noticed Garrett staring at the item he’d been given. He stepped closer, peering over the man’s shoulder.

From what he could tell, it was a poppy – one of the strange blueish-white poppies that he’d seen in the Void and Sokolov’s workshop.

“That’s not good, is it?” Corvo asked, as Garrett turned the (slightly crushed) flower over in his hands. He’d only seen it in association with the Primal; he wondered if it had grown because of Garrett’s presence at the Hound Pits, or for something else.

“It depends,” Garrett said. “These grew all over the city, for a time. When Erin was more connected to the Primal, she was connected to the entire city. These were a result of her connection. They weren’t exactly an omen of malevolence. Generally, though, they were more common when close to the shards of Primal. _This_ could have grown simply because I’ve been here.”

He carefully plucked a petal from the flower, and to Corvo’s surprise, placed in his mouth, slowly chewing. He caught Corvo’s look.

“They’re good for headaches,” he said. “When I first got this-“ he gestured to his face, and the scarring surrounding his eye “-I also got a lot of headaches. Chewing these helped me focus. Pure opium is repugnant, but I can focus better without a headache.”

Corvo decided he wasn’t going to ask. He was already in _far_ too deep where black magic was concerned. Frankly, chewing poppies seemed sane compared to what the Outsider had given to Corvo.

“Havelock and Martin are already planning our next outing,” he said to Garrett. “The Tower. I wanted you to come along to the briefing.”

“Did _they?”_ Garrett asked, following him back towards the main building of the Hound Pits.

“I didn’t ask,” Corvo said. “They’re not exactly in a position to throw you out, especially not now, what with the delicate situation we’re in.”

Garrett nodded, and was silent for a moment, before he spoke again.

“You never said what happened,” he began, “in your duel. Or, how we managed to cross the canal to Samuel’s boat.”

“You’re right,” Corvo realised. “Well, essentially, that latest rune enabled me to...” He paused. “Well, I can stop time.”

As soon as he said it, he realised how odd it sounded. And Corvo was saying this to a man who’d been pulled through a primordial gap between worlds.

“I’m not sure what’s worse,” Garrett said. “That I believe it, or that I’m not surprised that I believe it.”

Corvo snuffed a quiet laugh. “It doesn’t work indefinitely,” he explained. “Ten seconds, at the most. But it’s proved useful so far, if draining. Moving you across that distance while keeping time stopped wasn’t exactly a walk in the park,” he admitted.

He frowned for a moment, recalling the party. “How did you manage to stand up against the Overseer’s music?” he asked. “ _I_ had trouble and I was halfway across the room.”

Garrett raised a shoulder in a half shrug. “It pushed, I pushed back. I guess it had something to do with the Primal and its connection to your Outsider. Like he said, I’m carrying a piece of him inside me. Maybe it’s stronger than what he chooses to give you. He didn’t exactly sound _happy_ that I had it, after all.”

Corvo could agree with that. The force _was_ called ‘The Primal’, after all. He didn’t know where it came from but it certainly hinted at a baser part of the Outsider’s power. Still, it was no mean feat, being able to resist the anti-magic boxes the Overseers used. Before they could continue the conversation, they arrived at Havelock’s chambers, where he and Martin were leaning over a map of Dunwall Tower. Havelock didn’t look particularly pleased to see Garrett there, and Martin just looked _interested,_ as ever, but neither of them commented. Clearly they saw that Garrett was here for the long haul, in the end.

Before anyone could speak, an announcement rang out from the street outside:

_“Attention Dunwall citizens. The Masked criminals are believed to be hiding in a quarantined district. All citizens must report unexplained lights, odd sounds, and signs of conflict originating from evacuated buildings.”_

“Sounds like you’re running out of time,” Garrett commented.

“Soon, it won’t matter,” Martin replied.

“Corvo,” Havelock began, before he almost stopped short in an attempt to correct himself, before adding, “Garrett.” Corvo could tell the second word wasn’t said easily. Garrett folded his arms, and Corvo was sure he was trying not to smirk.

“The time has come,” the admiral said, gravely. “Everything we have done-“

“-Debateable,” Garrett muttered under his breath-

“Everything that _you_ have done, has served to make this moment possible.”

“The Lord Regent is exposed,” Martin said, looking up from the map he had been studying. “Vulnerable. And now everything is in place to strike at him. We’re one step from the throne.”

Garrett peered at the map on the table. “A few more than one, maybe,” he said.

“One man, one beating heart-“ Corvo inwardly winced at Havelock’s choice of words “-is all that’s left of the forces that brought this city to the brink of ruin.”

“It is simple,” Martin said, “but it will be far from easy. The Lord Regent’s paranoia has reached an all-time high. He has lost the support of the Overseers, the Parliament, his financial base, and he’s lost Sokolov, who made his security technology. So at Dunwall Tower he has consolidated every remaining loyal man around him.”

“He knows something is coming,” Havelock said. “He knows _you_ are coming. And everything depends on him being correct. Piero will help you prepare, then Samuel will take you close to the Tower, near the water lock.”

“Last time you were there was the horrible day all of this started. _Now,_ you will go there and end it. Good luck, Corvo.”

“I’m not sure what else we could say, other than our hopes are riding on you,” Martin added.

“How about some information as to how we’re supposed to gain access to the Regent,” Garrett said, still looking at the map on the table. Corvo crossed the room to join him.

The map was a basic layout of the Tower; Corvo hadn’t really needed it, considering he’d spent most of his life in and around it. He supposed Garrett was the sort of person who liked to have maps, so he could prepare better.

“This map is...” Garrett left the sentence unfinished, but clearly he found it to be lacking somewhat. Corvo had to admit, it _was_ somewhat sparse. “What are the Tower grounds like?” he asked. “Where is the Regent going to _be_ in all this mess?” He gestured to the map.

“Most likely here,” Corvo said, indicating a bedroom on the second floor. “Unless he’s built a safe room while I was imprisoned. The grounds outside aren’t too difficult to negotiate. The only issue will be the people guarding it.”

“Guards can be fooled,” Garrett said. “What’s this place?” he asked, indicating a stairwell. “It doesn’t lead outside.”

Corvo peered at the map. “The radio tower,” he said. “It’s where the announcements are made from. It might come in useful, I suppose, if we wanted to declare to the city that the Regent was dead.”

“Not a good move,” Garrett said. “You’d never make it out alive. You’d look like the crazed man who broke out of prison to simply enact revenge on the man who put you in there and tortured you.”

Corvo nodded; the man had a point. “It may be useful to investigate the tower anyway,” he said. “If anything, we could stop the Regent’s propaganda from spreading. And it’s likely the tower’s alarm systems are situated there. It might be prudent to disable them, given our track record in _leaving_ our locations.”

Aside from the Golden Cat, they’d not left a place unaware that they’d visited. It wasn’t for want of _trying;_ their lack of success had been bad luck more than bad preparation. Still, Dunwall Tower wasn’t like Clavering Boulevard or the Boyle Estate. It was fortified to keep people _out_ for a reason.

“Do you know where valuables are kept in here?”  Garrett asked. “Does he keep a safe in his room, or elsewhere?”

“ _Why_ would you need use of the safe?” Havelock asked. “Your goal is to kill the man and end his reign.”

“No, that’s _your_ goal,” Garrett said. “Mine is different.”

“It’s for the stone Sokolov had in his possession, yes?” Martin asked. “I heard of your... outburst in the kennel,” he said.

“ _What_ it is is no concern of yours. You just need to understand that if I don’t find it, you won’t even have an Empire left to save.”

Before Havelock or Martin could say anything else, Garrett stepped away from the table, heading to the door and leaving the room.

Corvo offered an apologetic smile to the pair. “We’ll get the task done,” he said. “Garrett has no reason _not_ to.”

He left, swiftly following the thief, who had sought out Piero, most likely to pick up some extra arrows for his quiver.

Garrett held one of the newly crafted arrows up to his eye, inspecting the shafts. “What did you use for fletching?” he asked. “I don’t recognise it.”

“Kingsparrow feathers,” Piero replied. “They have the effect of muffling the sound of the arrow’s flight. I’ll admit, I’m more used to fashioning ammunition for use in crossbows, but you should find these adequate.”

Garrett unfolded his bow – Corvo noticed Piero’s eyes light up at the mechanism’s movement – before nocking the arrow and drawing the bow back. The motion was easily practised, and the arrow whistled out of the workshop, thudding into the wall near the door to the kennels across the courtyard.

“A little lighter weight than I’m used to, but the workmanship is decent,” Garrett said. “You did well with the time given.”

Piero bowed his head at the compliment. “I am a simple craftsman. It is you and Corvo who are doing the hard work in this venture.”

Garrett’s mouth quirked, before he stepped out of the workshop and headed to the boat.

“The schematic you gave to me before was very interesting,” Piero said. “If you’ll allow it, I can adjust your mask to give you an optical zoom.”

Corvo handed the mask over, reasoning that in the expanses of the tower grounds, such an upgrade would probably be useful. Piero had clearly already fashioned the mechanism; he adjusted it slightly before attaching it to the mask. All Corvo had to do was lower the optical sight in front of his eye, and he was given a greater distance in his sights.

Thanking him, Corvo left, joining Garrett and Samuel by the boat.

“Ready to face the Lord Regent?” Samuel asked. “About time we took care of him, I say. Long past time.”

“Let’s go,” Corvo agreed, stepping into the boat.                                                                                           

* * *

 

“Have you considered what may happen if you don’t find the stone?” Corvo asked suddenly, as they left the Hound Pits behind once more.

Garrett shifted slightly in his seat, looking out across the river. “If the Outsider truly believed that I could not reclaim the stone, would he have brought me here?” he asked. “Even so, if I can’t find the stone, the Regent should know where it is. He was the one who took it from Sokolov, after all. We’ll just have to ask him before you kill him. But, frankly, it’s likely he’s written it down somewhere. Most do when studying it – look at Sokolov.”

“What do you think he intended to do with it?” Corvo asked.

“Honestly?” Garrett asked. “I’m still not sure what the people in _my_ city intended to use it for. Gain power, of course, but to what end? Enslaving a city to the whims of a single man? It leaves little to the imagination, if that’s the case. I just hope he’s been too busy consolidating his failing power to focus on an object he doesn’t understand too well.”

“He’s certainly more insular of late,” Samuel spoke up. “News is that someone broke into Coldridge Prison, broke someone out. No word from the Regent on the matter, though. Guess whoever did it trying to copy your success, Corvo.”

“Who got out?” Corvo asked. He hadn’t seen many people during his own stay in Coldridge; he was kept in solitary confinement or the torture room for most of it.

“Woman by the name of Lizzy Stride, so a riverhand told me,” Samuel said. “She’s the leader of the Dead Eels.”

“The gang near Drapers Ward?” Corvo asked.

“The same,” Samuel said. “Don’t know who got her out or why, but the word is the gang’s sailed upriver, for some reason. In any case, the Regent’s done nothing to stop anyone else getting into the prison.”

“Preoccupied people are always easier to exploit,” Garrett said. “Distract a man well and you can steal the coins from his back pocket. _Front,_ if you’re really good.”

It taken the better part of the day to get to Dunwall Tower, now night was falling as the structure loomed before them.

“This is it, Corvo,” Samuel said, with an air of finality. “Your last memories of Dunwall Tower might not be good ones; maybe you can make up for what happened back then. It’ll be a bit of a climb from the water lock.”

“Great,” Garrett muttered, dipping his hand into the river to clean off the excess kohl from his eyes, before starting to reapply it.

“Most important thing is killin’ the Lord Regent,” Samuel continued. “Built himself quite a place at the top of the tower. Calls it his safe room, or somethin’. Crazy if ya ask me.”

“How is it you knew that but our esteemed strategists _didn’t?”_ Garrett asked, looking up at the tower. “You know, the last time I was at a structure like this one-“ he began, but Corvo cut him off.

“Let me guess, it caught fire and collapsed,” he said.

The three men shared a small laugh, oddly discordant with the task facing them and the oppressive atmosphere of the tower above them. It certainly was odd for Garrett, who was normally restricted to small smiles and the odd snort of laughter. Perhaps he too recognised the finality of the task in front of them.

“It didn’t collapse, at least not completely,” Garrett said. “But it was on fire.”

“What was it?” Samuel asked.

“The Baron’s Keep,” Garrett replied. “He’d taken my fence prisoner. _And_ there was a safe the size of a room in there. That _did_ collapse.”

“Must be a miracle that everything we’ve touched so far _hasn’t,_ then,” Corvo said.

“The night is young,” Garrett replied.

“Another point of interest while I’m giving you two the grand tour,” Samuel added. “The broadcast control station here – where all them announcements come from, might be worth lookin’ into.”

The boat drew closer to the edge of the lock, stopping just outside the interior.

“You ready?” Samuel asked. “Next time I see you both, the Lord Regent’ll be dead, and if not, well it was an honour to serve with you. Both of you.”

“I would have preferred it if you’d left that last part off,” Garrett muttered, rising somewhat unsteadily. “How are we getting in here?” he asked.

Corvo recalled that Garrett either couldn’t swim or actively disliked it. Either way, it was going to be an issue, as the only way Corvo could see for them to get anywhere was to swim across the bottom of the water lock.

“Do you trust me?” he asked, as he pulled his mask on for what was likely the last time. Garrett followed suit, fixing his scarf across the lower part of his face.

“Trust is a strong word,” Garrett began. “I- yes,” he said, cutting himself off. “I would say I do.”

“Good,” Corvo said, “because you’re not going to like this.”

Without waiting for further comment, he reached out, grabbed Garrett by the waist and leapt backwards into the river.

Corvo heard Samuel’s dry chuckle echo from the boat nearby, as Garrett simultaneously attempted to scramble away from Corvo and cling to him at the same time.

“Look, we needed to get into the lock,” Corvo said, as Garrett finally went still, somewhat balanced on Corvo’s shoulders in an attempt to keep the most part of him out of the water. “We can’t risk taking the boat in and we can’t afford to wait around forever while you attempt to find a workaround. Just, _hold on.”_

“I hate you,” he growled in undertone, as Corvo began to backpedal through the water, bringing them into the interior of the lock. “If you did this simply because Samuel can’t bring the _boat_ closer inside I swear on the Outsider, the Trickster, Red Jenny, and all the other gods I can think of I _will_ drown you in this river.”

“Don’t be a baby,” Corvo muttered, looking behind him to see the wall growing closer. He reached out, and traversed them onto a ledge. They stood, dripping wet, Garrett fixing Corvo with a glare that would have stopped many men in their tracks. Corvo, for his part, laughed.

“Your bowstring is fine. And, look, you got to test the waterproofing oil you bought from Griff.”

Garrett said nothing, instead silently turning and wringing out his cloak.

“We weren’t in that long,” Corvo reasoned. “We’ll dry quickly enough and this place drips enough that people won’t realise we’re coming.”

“Aside from the wet footprints, you mean,” Garrett said, climbing the pipes in front of them to stand in front of a slowly rotating fan.

They climbed the lock, finding it easier to traverse than its water-filled base, before eventually coming to a closed door. Garrett peered through the lock, before cursing quietly.

“There’s an arc pylon behind the door,” he said, stepping back slightly. “I don’t know if it has enough range to detect us when we open the door, but I don’t want to risk it.” He peered above them. “There’s one guard who would be near enough to hear it activate, though.”

“Can you see any wiring?” Corvo asked, an idea forming in his mind.

Garrett peered through the lock once more – clearly his enhanced vision from the Outsider only worked on people, not inanimate objects.

“Possibly,” he said. “It stretches behind the pylon, to the left, if I’m right.”

“Wait here,” Corvo told him, before bringing up his left hand and pulling once more, feeling time grind to a halt around him. The world was drained of colour once more, filtering to nothing but muted greys that accompanied the whispers and roars connected to the ability. Corvo pushed the door open, seeing the arc pylon frozen in an instant of time – unmoving, a static charge frozen in midair.

Garrett had been correct; the pylon’s wiring was to the left of the device, and soon enough the whale oil tank had been removed, just as the world returned to its normal state. Garrett stepped in through the door, spotting Corvo by the wall.

“That _is_ a useful gift,” he commented.

“Not useful enough for me to get to the Regent without being spotted,” Corvo replied. “But you’re right. It could get us out of a tight spot if it comes to it.”

They crept up the stairs, silently pushing open the door that lead to the faded stonework of the tower’s exterior. Corvo could hear the guard moving above them, mumbling to himself as he did so. Slowly peering round the stone facade at the stop of the stairs, Corvo saw the guard was conveniently facing away from them, but there was a large open door leading into the water lock on his right.

“Two inside the lock,” Garrett whispered, using his own abilities to pinpoint the guards. “Some more are past the other door. All of them are far enough away that they won’t notice you.”

Corvo moved quickly across the open expanse, lest they were spotted. He quickly subdued the guard and dragged him to a nearby storeroom, where he would be out of sight from any other guards. The guard had a key on him – Corvo wasn’t sure what it was for, but he took it anyway, in case it became useful. They might not have the luxury of giving Garrett the time to use his lockpicks.

They stood on either side of the door to the lock, Garrett motioning that he would take the guard on the right. Corvo moved to the left, carefully watching his own guard as Garrett ghosted across the walkway. Soon enough, both guards were taken out and dragged to darkened corners of the lock.

Garrett was crouched by an open door; Corvo joined him, out of sight of their latest problem: a Wall of Light on the exit of the lock. The door Garrett was crouched by led to a balcony, where they would be out of sight of any guards near the lock.

“There’s a tallboy down there,” Garrett said, pointing through the wall to where the lower path under the bridge was situated. Corvo remembered it was the place he’d played hide and seek with Emily six months ago.

“That’s not our problem right now. I can’t see any circuitry for the Wall of Light here, and if we can’t disable that we’re not getting near the tallboy to even think about dealing with that.”

Garrett sighed, casting his eyes skyward, before frowning at something above him.

“How good are you at balancing on slanted stone?” he asked, unfolding his bow and selecting an arrow.

“I can manage, if it means getting to the tower,” Corvo replied.

“Good,” Garrett said, firing an arrow. It slammed into a metal bracket, and a length of rope unspooled from it, dangling to just above their heads.

Garrett fired the bow twice more, so now a path of sorts existed between stone outcroppings and metal brackets now fixed with lengths of rope. It was a precarious drop, either if they slipped off the stone or the rope came loose; sharp rocks and inky black water lay beneath them.

Corvo eyed the makeshift pathway as Garrett replaced his bow. “It’s novel, I’ll say that, but _you’re_ going first.”

Garrett snorted, grasping the rope and hauling himself up. When he was near the ledge, he swung forward slightly, using the momentum to push himself onto the stone ledge. He landed well, keeping a sure footing, and reached for the next rope.

Corvo was more out of practise than Garrett in such manoeuvres, but he found the stone to not be as precarious as it looked from ground level. Of course, he had the added backup of being able to cross short distances via a supernatural power; Garrett had no such assurance and had crossed the gap with ease. Their journey ended on a metal fence – thick enough to balance on but not enough to give Corvo comfort, so they quickly moved, precariously balanced on the metal. Corvo was once more reminded of a cat when looking at Garrett in front of him.

They ended up at the base of a wall, crouched on some flat metal sheeting. Garrett peered at the stonework. Well, he peered _through_ the stonework.

“One guard nearby,” he said. “All the others look like they’re to the left. There’s another tallboy that way, too. I suggest we head right and see if there’s a way forward there.”

They climbed over the wall, fortunately landing in some dense shrubbery that hid them from a patrolling guard, but he was easily skirted, and soon the pair at the base of a panelled wall, moving further away from the patrolled areas.

“There,” Garrett pointed to a panel that had conveniently fallen off, revealing the inner workings of some scaffolding. They scaled the wooden boards and metal railings; Corvo found it far easier than the precarious metal and rope they’d previously used.

The guards’ patrols were easily tracked – Garrett whispered their movements to him and Corvo rendered each once unconscious, until they were alone on the stack of scaffolding, watching guards and tallboys in the distance patrol.

“Over there,” Corvo said, making use of his new optical sights in inspecting the outer facade of the tower. “There’s a vent that should lead to the entrance hall of the tower. We can use the ledge to go around the outside of the building, like we did in Holger Square.”

“Strange to think that was only a few days ago,” Garrett said quietly, as they made the short leap onto the stone ledge surrounding the tower’s main building.

Now that Corvo thought about it, the events that had transpired over the past few days were beyond his reckoning. A week previously he’d been resigned to ending his days in a prison yard, executed for a crime he had no part in. But then he’d been broken out by anonymous people, recruited into a conspiracy to overthrow the corrupt regime, and sent on several missions to bring down said regime’s powerbase.

And _that_ was only a small part of the week’s events. He’d also had a meeting with a mysterious god that wore the face of a young man but bore himself like a being older than anything Corvo could fathom. He’d met a man from another _world;_ pulled into a place he had little understanding of, to do a task Corvo had little understanding of. Perhaps a task even more important than Corvo’s. And Garrett had been strange, foreign, a criminal who knew exactly what he was and what his place was in the world. He’d seen and experienced things many could only imagine, and at the end of it all he’d seen no reason to change his ways and reform – he’d accepted his lot as a man who walked the boundary between light and dark, between the law and what was necessary to survive.

Garrett had been more sure-footed than Corvo in certain aspects, especially in these turbulent times. He’d not exactly _thrived,_ but he’d found a place where his skills could be useful and he could also ply his own trade without interference. He’d been averse to murder, but so had Corvo, so it wasn’t as if he could fault the man for that.

Corvo didn’t know if Garrett would call _him_ a friend, but he would be lying to himself if he didn’t consider Garrett so.

They crept along the outside of the building, ducking behind spotlights as an announcement rang out:

_“Attention Dunwall Tower personnel: All unidentified persons should be considered hostile until evaluated by an officer of the Watch. Anyone resisting will be met with extreme force.”_

“I get the feeling we’ll be met with extreme force anyway,” Garrett mused aloud.

“Probably the masks,” Corvo agreed, as they reached the vent. He jiggled it slightly, but found it secured and locked. He cursed quietly, before Garrett slowly moved up beside him.

“Move over,” he muttered, extracting an item from his belt – not a lockpick, but something that looked like a screwdriver or wrench of sorts. He made short work of the screws holding the lock in place, and soon the vent cover was free.

“People put more effort on the lock than the actual thing holding the lock in place,” he said by way of explanation. “Sometimes it’s easier to unhinge the whole door instead of picking the lock. More noticeable, though,” he added.

“I can imagine,” Corvo said, as he ducked into the vent. It was large enough to accommodate him without too much of an issue – he could move easily enough while crouched – and it was a short distance to the far end where the vent opened into the entrance hall. For Garrett, being almost a head shorter, it was no problem at all for him to pass through the space. He looked at ease, anyway, so apparently he did this sort of thing a lot.

“Why is this vent even here?” Garrett muttered. “It doesn’t _go_ anywhere. It’s a poor design fault that could let _anyone_ in. I’m not complaining, it’s useful, but my city doesn’t have something this obvious for an apparently unknown purpose.”

Garrett was right. If they managed to pull this off and restore Emily to the throne, the first thing Corvo was going to do was revise some _serious_ security issues at certain locations he’d visited in the past week.

Crouched in a shadowy recess, the pair had a good overview of proceedings below. Two guards were stood in front of a screen – a screen depicting the Lord Regent, who was giving instructions to them. Another guard patrolled the floor below them. It appeared as if the pair of guards were trying to convince the Regent to use his safe room. Corvo was glad the man’s personality was as it was – his stubbornness wouldn’t allow it unless his life was in immediate danger. Which, at the moment, wasn’t.

“The chandeliers,” Garrett said. “They look sturdy enough.”

“They _look_ it,” Corvo replied. “You seem to be intent on taking the most precarious routes possible. We don’t even know where we’re going.”

“Well, the bedroom is over there,” Garrett said, indicating a balcony opposite them. “There’s nobody in there at the moment. _Or_ we could go to the radio tower first, see if there are any alarm systems we can disrupt. Either way, you can get a better vantage point on the chandelier.”

Corvo huffed out a short breath, taking in their surroundings.

“We’ll go to the radio tower,” he said. “Better to prepare in case you get spotted again.”

“Next time you need a distraction, then, don’t ask me,” Garrett retorted, causing Corvo to smirk as he transported them to the chandelier. Almost immediately he regretted it – it creaked worryingly and some dust fell from the ceiling. It _did_ hold, however, and a quick check of the walkway revealed no guards to be patrolling, so Corvo quickly moved them on to stand in front of the door to the broadcast tower.

Almost immediately they had to duck behind doorframe, as an arc pylon situated in the room crackled into life.

“ _Shit,”_ Corvo muttered. “I hate these things.”

Garrett, with his back pressed to the doorframe, peered around it, thankfully staying undetected by the pylon. “I think the wiring stretches to the bottom floor,” he said. “Either way, this one’s on you.”

Corvo was thankful for this newfound ability the Outsider had given him. Otherwise, he would have had to have found other ways to skirt the numerous dangers facing them now.

Stopping time was still a novelty to him; the world halted to an instant and preserved for his eyes alone. There was no colour, aside from the bright-blue glow surrounding Garrett’s eye – it obscured most of his features, and frankly, Corvo found him difficult to look at, the blue was so bright. The arc pylon was bright white at the static charges, but not hard to look at. Corvo could see dust motes suspended in the air, reflecting the light from the static electricity. Passing by the pylon, he could feel the hair on the back of his hand rising as it came near to the charge.

Garrett was right, the wires for the pylon were below him, so Corvo simply vaulted the railing, dropping down to the floor below. The impact jarred his knees slightly, but thankfully he didn’t sustain any serious injury. He didn’t think he would be able to bear Garrett’s jibes if he did. He removed the whale oil tank just as the world sped up again, and looked up to see Garrett carefully peering over the railing, by the deactivated pylon. His head pounded – he wasn’t sure if he would be able to use that power again for some time, not until he’d recovered some strength at least. He supposed that was a fair price to pay – the Outsider wasn’t exactly going to elevate him to some sort of godlike state, after all. Corvo had the feeling he wouldn’t find it as entertaining.

Near the top of the stairs, they froze, as an announcement rang out over the speaker. Corvo could actually hear the man – Malleus – making the speech as it was simultaneously broadcast through the tower and presumably across the city.

_“A city-wide ban on whale oil is now in effect. Citizens are encouraged to bring any whale oil in their possession to the City Watch at once. Anyone caught burning oil will be subject to arrest. This message is a directive from the Lord Regent himself. We must all trust in the Regent.”_

“Please,” Garrett muttered, as they slowly crept up the stairs – they’d halted when Malleus had begun his speech. “You people really need to find better resources.”

After delivering his message, Malleus turned the loudspeaker off – and immediately spotted Corvo and Garrett; the former with his sword drawn and the latter holding an arrow in what Corvo assumed the man thought to be a threatening matter. If he were honest, he wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of one of those arrows, and Garrett’s appearance made him _look_ threatening enough.

As it were, Malleus immediately shied away from them both.

“Please, please don’t hurt me,” he begged in earnest. “You’re here to kill the Regent, aren’t you?”

“Perceptive,” Garrett said quietly, turning the arrow over in his hand.

“Spare my life and I can help you beat him,” the man continued. “He makes recordings on an audiograph. Secrets. Some that would destroy him if others heard. Played on this amplifier –“ he gestured to a console on the wall behind him “-his confessions would be broadcast throughout the city. He’ll be ruined.”

“ _This_ is why you don’t keep diaries. Especially audio ones,” Garrett said. Corvo had to agree it was becoming a problem among nobles in the city.

“The audiograph card you want is in a safe in the Lord Regent’s room. But I was able to see the combination over his shoulder: 935.”

Corvo could almost feel Garrett’s demeanour change from across the room.

“Did you see anything else in his safe?” he asked, stowing his arrow back in his quiver, clearly perceiving Malleus to be a non-threat.

“I didn’t see,” the man answered. “I just saw the code.”

“Guess we’ll have to take a look for ourselves then,” Garrett said. “And hope that he keeps his occult objects with his confessional audiographs.”

“Trust me, what’s recorded on that card will do the trick,” Malleus said. “Good luck.”

Corvo repressed his laughter, instead turning and heading back down the staircase, leaving Malleus quivering by the console. He’d forgotten that he and Garrett were supposed to be dangerous criminals, although he was thankful the man hadn’t raised the alarm. He briefly wondered if Malleus had guessed his identity – he’d met Malleus in the days before his incarceration, after all. Perhaps the man was willing to keep his secret.

_He is tired,”_ the Heart whispered, apparently finding no more to say. Corvo could agree with the sentiment, though. He would be glad when this night was over.

They ended up on the balcony overlooking the main floor once again.

“That’s the Regent’s room,” Garrett said, indicating another balcony across the open expanse. “We can just balance on the chandelier again.”

“ _Or_ we can just walk along the corridor and use the door,” Corvo stated.

“Oh.”

Corvo repressed a snort.

 “Room’s empty anyway,” Garrett informed him, and they quickly moved across the walkway and into the corridor.

The Regent’s room was emptier than first thought, it seemed, as the pair soon discovered: there was no safe to be seen. Corvo recalled there being one by the entrance to the balcony before, but that was no longer there. He could see there had once been an object there – a faint impression in the carpet that indicated recent removal.

“He’s moved it. Or at least put his valuables somewhere else.”

“He won’t have moved it far. Nobles operate on the ‘Keep your friends close and your valuables even closer’ way of life. It’s hidden in here somewhere,” Garrett said. “Looks like your Regent finally realised that a simple safe won’t stop me, and he probably saw that I got into Sokolov’s notes. Keep an eye on the door,” he added.

Corvo did as he was bid, knowing that Garrett would be far better than him at looking for the safe’s location. He started by analysing the wood-panelled walls, passing his hand over a few of them. After that, he tried the paintings, running his hands around the frames for hidden switches. He even stood on the bed at one point, to examine the painting there, as well as check behind the bedposts.

“What are you looking for exactly?” Corvo asked.

“Anything out of place, or a switch. The modification must be recent, if the broadcaster saw the safe and its contents only recently. Does anything look different to you?” Garrett began to investigate a painting on the far side of the room.

Corvo cast his eye across the room, trying to remember the room as it was six months ago. The rooms had previously belonged to Jessamine, but gone were the touches that marked her as a person – the soft furnishings and flowers that adorned the desk. Instead, utilitarian furniture and a lack of comfort and warmth.

“The only thing I can see that’s different is the globe,” he shrugged, peering back through the door again.

Garrett silently crossed the room to the sphere, crouching in front of it. “What’s different?” he asked.

“It’s new,” Corvo told him.

Garrett spun the globe, carefully watching its rotation. “Heavier than a globe should be,” he grunted, brushing a finger along the outline of the Isles. “Chances our this safe was made using the same lock from the old one so the Regent didn’t forget the combination –most nobles don’t change them because _they_ need to get to their valuables, and a combination is difficult to remember on a normal day. It was clearly made recently, if the man in the tower saw our friend the Regent placing items into a safe he saw the combination for, so it likely has the same combination. Ingenious design,” he commented, slowly spinning the globe, leaning closer. “Pretentious, and highly dramatic, but absurd,” he added.

“Absurd?” Corvo asked.

“It’s fairly easy to open,” Garrett replied shortly, pressing his hand to the globe to halt its slow spin. He then placed his hand on the top of the globe, and _pushed._ There was a sharp click, and the top of the globe unfolded, like petals from a flower, revealing the contents inside – an audiograph card, some gold, and two written notes.

“93 degrees West, 5 degrees North,” Garrett said, fishing out the note, and audiograph card. “ _Seriously?_ An ordinary safe would have been harder to crack.”

Corvo stepped across the room, inspecting the one of the notes that Garrett had pulled out of the safe.

_Lord Spymaster,_

_We had a specific agreement and I planned around it. The Royal Protector wasn’t part of that agreement. You assured me that she and the girl would be alone. So the price of the job just went up. Send the coin to the alternate dead drop or you can be sure we’ll come calling._

_-Daud._

“He’s a professional, I’ll grant him that,” Garrett said. “I would have done the same thing, most likely.”

“You would?” Corvo asked, crumpling the note in his hand.

Garrett shrugged. “People like me – and him – do the job we’re paid to do. If the variables of the job change halfway through, I’d expect suitable compensation, especially if that change somehow endangers my life more so than usual. I’m assuming you killed some of Daud’s men that day, or at least hurt them? I would want to be paid for that.”

Corvo could see his point. It still didn’t stop the cold feeling settling in his gut – the Empress’ life was worth no more than a few coins. And Corvo? Corvo had been a simple inconvenience; a chance to barter for _more_ coin.

Garrett scanned the other note, a frown creasing his features. “And _of course_ the stone isn’t here,” he sighed. “It seems our movements over the past week have forced the Regent to ‘ _further move on with his plans’,”_ he quoted. “He’s written something about a lighthouse and the ‘ _stone’s influence’_ – which is bad – and he’s moved it elsewhere. Again. If he’s going in Sokolov’s notes it could be worse than I thought.”

“A lighthouse?” Corvo asked. “I don’t know of any lighthouse. It’d be better to ask Samuel,” he reasoned, “He knows the waterways best.”

“Or we could interrogate it out of the Regent,” Garrett said.

“Are you seriously considering that?” Corvo asked. “For one, we have neither the time nor the tools to do so. And I don’t even know if I could look at the man without wanting to separate his head from his shoulders, let alone keep him alive long enough for him to tell us where he’s put the stone. I’d be happy to torture him, but it would be better for him to be in a prison cell, where he would be safe _from_ me _.”_

Garrett looked up, appraising Corvo for a moment. Corvo wondered what was going through the man’s mind.

He didn’t need to, for the Heart summarised it for him.

_His hands have committed violent acts, but his mind revolts at the thought of causing pain needlessly._

“Perhaps you’re right,” the thief said. Corvo could tell that he had only suggested the action on a whim, a stray thought brought about by his desire to reclaim the stone – a stone that kept eluding his grasp by what felt like inches. He’d aided Corvo in all _his_ efforts, yet received nothing for his own endeavours in return. Corvo could understand his sudden desire to end the charade. But he’d clearly not expected Corvo’s somewhat cruel response to his offhand statement.

“We know where it is. There can’t be that many lighthouses in Dunwall, especially not ones built recently. Let’s go,” Corvo muttered, suddenly ashamed of his dark thoughts. He turned to the door.

Before he could take a step, Garrett clamped a hand on his arm, a curse rising on his breath.

“We can’t go out that way,” he said quietly. “Someone’s coming.”

Corvo cursed, preparing to transport them out onto the balcony, so they could use the damned chandeliers again, but before he could act, the door _opened._ So, Corvo instead tried to use his other power, slowing time down so they could make their escape. Except that, when he tried to, he felt like his skull was about to crack open. The mark on his hand flickered, before sputtering into nothingness. It was like he didn’t have the _resolve_ to transport them somewhere safe.

“ _Fuck,”_ he whispered.

Garrett seemed to realise their problem, so he did the only thing he saw fit. He dragged them backwards, into the room, quickly scuttling under the bed.

“Are you serious?” Corvo hissed as they huddled under the mattress, watching as the Regent himself entered the chamber. Corvo had to resist the urge to simply walk up to the man and end his life there and then – considering his feelings for the man it was apt enough. No, they’d been given another way to take down the Regent, and Garrett needed the man alive if he was going to get the Primal shard back. The only issue was that the Regent was now blocking any route to the broadcast tower.

They didn’t move as the Regent crossed the room, coming to stand at the globe. Corvo was thankful to see Garrett had closed the device – clearly practised in the art of not alerting nobles they’d just been robbed. Burrows stood, his back to the bed, fiddling with the device.

“Predictable,” Garrett whispered.

The Regent finally opened the safe with a sharp click, and Corvo then witnessed the effect a thief such as Garrett had on a person who thought they had impenetrable defences for their valuables.

Whatever was on the card must have been pretty incriminating – the Regent had paled and stared at the empty space where it had resided with an uncomprehending stare. When he finally _did_ comprehend what was going on, he paled even further; this time in rage. 

“ _Guardsman!”_ the word was shouted with such venom that even Corvo flinched, almost hitting his head on the wooden bed frame.

Burrows crossed the room, to the door on the far side, clearly looking for the guard that was stationed outside.

“Stay here,” Garrett whispered, apparently getting an idea. He inched towards the edge of the bed, to the door on their immediate left.

“Are you _mad?”_ Corvo hissed, casting a furtive glance to Burrows, who he was _sure_ was about to turn around again.

“Wait _here_ ,” Garrett replied, gesturing with his hand. “You’ll see.”

Before Corvo could stop him, Garrett somehow managed to steal across the room – a shadow in movement. He slipped through the door, disappearing into the corridor, leaving Corvo under the bed in the same room as his greatest enemy. An enemy who _knew_ someone was in the tower.

Corvo had to admire the ease in which Garrett bypassed the regent – a man such as himself would have probably drawn his attention, but Garrett managed to slip out of the room without so much as a sound. What he planned to do next, Corvo had no idea. He hoped the man wasn’t about to leave him behind.

The Regent was furiously speaking to the hapless guard at the door.

“I want this tower searched, top to bottom,” he said. “Someone has been in my room, _in my safe,_ and none of you are getting your wages until they are _found.”_

“Sir, we’ve had no reports fro-“ the guard began, but was cut off by the sounds of an announcement on the loudspeaker. The tone was different from a regular one – an emergency broadcast that would be spread to the entire city.

Except it wasn’t Malleus’ voice that rang out through the speaker.

_“If I explain, then you will see, I am not at fault. My Poverty Eradication Plan was meant to bring prosperity to the City, to rid us of those scoundrels who waste their days in filth and drink, without homes or occupations other than to beg for the coin for which the rest of us toil.”_

If it were possible, the Regent went even paler than before, as his own incriminating words rang out around him. Corvo grinned beneath his mask – Garrett had taken the card to the tower. He’d not even notice the man remove the card from his possession.

_“And it was a simple plan – bring the disease bearing rats from the Pandyssian continent, and let them take care of the poor for us. The plan worked perfectly. At first. But the rats – it was if they sought to undo me. They hid from the catchers, and bred at a sickening rate. Soon it didn’t matter, rich, poor, all were falling sick.”_

Corvo was _really_ beginning to see Garrett’s point about recording your deepest, darkest secrets on an audiograph card. He had to admit, though, it was worth it to see the Regent’s reaction – he’d remained still, silent, only a small tremor in his hand giving away his feelings. The guard next to him was equally still.

Okay, so Corvo hadn’t really pictured himself seeing Burrow’s downfall from underneath the man’s _bed,_ but it was worth it.

_“And then people began to ask_ questions. _The Empress assigned me to investigate whether the rats had been imported by a foreign power. I knew the truth would come out eventually. So there was no other way than to be rid of her, and take power myself. She had to die, you see. SHE HAD TO DIE.”_

At _that_ phrase, the guard drew his sword – two more appeared behind him as the Regent backed into the room, still attempting to maintain his authority.

“What are you doing?” he asked. “I order you to put down your weapons. This is treason!”

“It’s over Hiram. Your head will roll for this,” one of the guards said grimly.

The broadcast continued, damning the Regent further.

_“Bringing about the death of an Empress is not an easy thing, but it gave me the chance to attack the plague with some real authority. Quarantines! Deportation of the sick! But there’s always some idiot woman searching for her wretched lost babe, or some snivelling workman searching for his missing wife. And then quarantine is broken!_

_“But you can see how my plan should have worked? Would have worked! If everyone had_ just _followed orders.”_

The broadcast ended, and all Corvo could hear after that was the Regent attempting to bargain for his life.

He rolled out from under the bed, standing and facing the man who had condemned him to six months of prison, torture, and an execution because he could not stand the plight of the poor. He felt sick, to know _this man_ had decided killing Jessamine Kaldwin was the only way he could keep his secrets safe.

He could still do it. He could end the Regent’s life right _there._

He stood, almost considering it, almost _about to do it, Garrett be damned_ , when the Regent was saved by none other than the guards about to arrest him. For one of them cast a look at the shadow behind the regent, and spotted Corvo.

He gasped, sword coming up just a bit higher, drawing the attention of the other two guards. Even Burrows turned, ignoring the three guards menacing him to face the greater threat.

Corvo wondered what the man – and the guards, to a lesser extent – was thinking, staring into the mask Piero had crafted. It was a mask that instilled fear; he was death coming to visit upon his enemies. He’d shivered in fear when the man had presented him with the mask, and each time he put it on he became this _other_ person, a silent assassin to exact his revenge on the city.

Except, Corvo had not killed a single person. It wasn’t revenge, not quite. _Retribution,_ perhaps, but he had chosen not to exert his darkest desires on Dunwall. He’d instead attempted to keep to the morals Jessamine expounded upon. He was instead the predator who had silently removed all of the Regent’s power, to bring him down to the man who stood before him now. And Corvo saw him as simply that. Not a great power, a terrible enemy; tyrant of the city. He was a man, a man who was now looking upon Corvo’s mask with an expression utmost terror.

Corvo did the only thing he thought he could. He raised his arm in a short salute to the three guards.

“Enjoy the walk to Coldridge, _Lord Regent_ ,” he said, noticing Burrows flinch as he heard Corvo’s voice. A small smile broke across his face, underneath his mask.

“Perhaps a bit smug, don’t you think?” came a voice as Corvo left the room via the _other_ door. He turned, to see Garrett stood at the balcony, humorously eyeing Corvo. “Still, I can’t say the man didn’t deserve it,” Garrett added. “Wilfully condemning your city to plague? Not even my nobility would be that stupid.”

“Nice work with the card,” Corvo said, watching as several guards raced up the stairs towards the Regent’s chambers. “Perhaps we should leave, though, before they get curious as to who revealed the darkest secret of our former Regent.”

“Indeed,” Garrett said. “Although I can’t say I’m looking forward to swimming through a water lock again.”                                                                                               

* * *

 

They found Samuel still in his boat, smoking, while Garrett grumbled about his sodden clothes.

“I heard the broadcast from here,” the boatman said. “I assume you’re ready to go back to the Hound Pits?”

“It’s done,” Corvo told him, sitting down. “The time of the Lord Regent is over.”

“Thanks to you. To both of you,” Samuel replied. “Let’s go.”                                                                           

* * *

 

Their trip was silent for the most part, the three taking in the air of the river while they had the quiet moment to reflect on the events that had passed.

“Did you find what you were looking for, Garrett?” Samuel asked eventually.

Garrett shook his head, pulling his scarf down. As an afterthought, he pulled his hood down, too, revealing his hair. He dipped a hand into the river, running his hand through the black strands and dampening them down.

“No,” he said. “I keep getting close and finding that it’s out of my grasp once more. Burrows moved it to a lighthouse, so his note says. I think I’ll ask him myself before you put him to death, though.”

Samuel sniffed, looking out across the river.

“Big changes,” he said. “Makes me uneasy, to tell the truth. The small fry like me always gets the worst of it.”

“Not if they fight back,” Garrett said. “They’re only small fry until they organise. Like dogs. Manageable on their own, but in a group, they can do great damage.”

“Like the people in your city did?” Corvo asked, remembering what Garrett had called the ‘Graven Dawn’. He received a nod in return.

“The people were starving, sick, and terrorised by the Watch. All it took were a few mentions of Orion and the Graven and all clamoured to join. And they managed to wrest control of the city from the Baron and the rest of the nobility. Well, until Orion fell.”

_They stood upon the precipice of change. They feared the inevitable plummet into the abyss. When it came, Garrett did not hesitate to leap. It was only when they fell that they learned whether they could fly. Many fell. But Garrett did not._

Was that what they were on now? Corvo had asked himself what would happen when the deed was done, when Burrows was gone. Except that his trials weren’t _over,_ per se. He still had a rogue thief to aid, and if the Outsider was correct, he _had_ to help him or watch his own world fall into said abyss.

“Maybe it’s going to be different now,” Samuel said. “The Lord Regent is gone. The Abbey has a new High Overseer-“

“-A man who I find more unsettling than the Outsider himself,” Garrett interrupted.

Corvo found that he actually agreed with Garrett, which didn’t bode well. But, as it stood, they’d needed Martin and his connections to help them.

“In any case, I’m guessing our work is almost done,” Samuel said, as they rounded a bend in the river.

“The others are in the bar,” Samuel said, as they drew closer to the dock at the Hound Pits, “no doubt waiting to raise a glass in your names.”

“Probably not mine,” Garrett mused aloud, pulling his hood up once more.

“Perhaps not,” Samuel agreed, “but that won’t erase what you helped achieve. Many of us will be forgotten in the coming days, I suspect.”

“Better to be forgotten,” Garrett said. “It’s not wise for someone like me to get a reputation.”

The boat turned sharply, drawing up to the dockside.

“Me, I think I’ll just linger out here, if you don’t mind,” Samuel said, as the boat halted. “Reflect on things while we have a moment.”

“Of course,” Corvo said.

“I think I’ll stay out here too,” Garrett said as the three disembarked. “I’ll join you later.” He nodded to the retreating figure of Samuel. “I’m going to ask him if he knows about any lighthouse.”

Corvo could understand Garrett’s unwillingness to join in the celebrations. He was a man who lived on the fringes of society, after all. The Boyle party had been an uncomfortable experience for him – a party thrown in celebration of his achievements (or at least his implied ones)? Corvo could see he wasn’t going to be the first in line to raise the toast.

“I’ll see you inside,” he said, removing his mask. It occurred to him that he wouldn’t have to wear it again.

As he approached the entrance to the bar, the door was thrown open by none other than Emily.

“Corvo!” she exclaimed. “Everyone says you did something good tonight.”

She stepped back, letting Corvo step into the pub’s interior.

“We’re leaving tomorrow, aren’t we?” she asked. “I don’t know if I want to go back to the Tower. I can be Empress from anywhere, right? Maybe a ship!”

Corvo smiled softly. “You wouldn’t be able to stay on the ship _all_ the time,” he said, briefly entertaining the idea.

As he crossed into the main bar area, he halted as he was greeted with applause from those gathered. Part of him wanted to step back outside – he realised why Garrett had declined to enter to begin with. Corvo’s job had relied on him being a mostly unseen presence behind the Empress. Being put into the spotlight was _not_ his forte. Another part of him wanted to step outside and drag Garrett in, so the Loyalists would be forced to recognise his worth. That being said, he had enough tact to realise that neither party would appreciate Corvo’s actions if he did just that.

Pendleton and Havelock approached him, the former handing him a glass of whiskey.

“Damn me, he’s done it,” he said, something akin to admiration in his voice. “Word is spreading all over the city. The tyranny is over. By this time tomorrow Emily will be on the throne. After that, we’ll clear your name and put everything we’ve got into rebuilding this city.”

“I wish there were more of a city to rule. Most of Dunwall is rats and corpses,” Havelock said.

“We have the people, and we have Emily,” Corvo said. “It is enough.”

“Corvo,” Pendleton continued, “you did your job while the rest of us sat on our asses.”

“So did Garrett,” Corvo interjected, noting that Pendleton’s face twitched, an incomprehensible expression crossing it.

“Yes, him too,” the man said. Corvo should _not_ have gotten so much pleasure from Pendleton’s discomfort.

“Anyway, our work starts tomorrow,” he finished.

“Tonight, rest easy,” Havelock said. “Tomorrow we crown an Empress.”

“I look forward to it,” Corvo told him.

Havelock stepped back, raising his glass in a toast.

“To Corvo!” he proclaimed. “The man who served to change the course of history!”

“To Emily Kaldwin,” Pendleton added, “and the new dawn rising for Dunwall and the Empire!”

Emily hid her head at the attention, but Corvo heartily drank to that toast. It was _over._ Or, it almost was. The stone was still an issue, but for tonight Corvo had no plans on ruminating over its location. They would not be able to act until tomorrow, anyway.

Still, thinking on the stone made him realise Garrett had not entered the bar yet, so he placed his drink down and went to search for the man. It was unlikely he would join them, but Corvo would feel better if he knew where the man actually _was._

He went back outside, the sunlight startling him for a moment; he raised a hand to block its rays. Crossing the yard, he found Garrett nowhere in sight, but Samuel was leaning against a wall, smoking. There was something troubled in his expression, but Corvo didn’t press – the man had been reflecting on the changing times in the boat, he was probably just going through the events of the past week, now it was over. Corvo would probably do the same, later. It had all been a lot to take in. More so than first thought. In fact, even now he was having trouble turning the events over in his mind.

“I think Garrett went upstairs,” Samuel told him. “Didn’t seem the type to join in the celebration.”

“No,” Corvo agreed, heading back inside and heading towards the stairs.

He paused on the first floor, quickly checking the rooms in case Garrett had felt the need to pilfer anything from Havelock’s or someone else’s quarters. They were empty, and Corvo stopped for a moment, passing a hand across his forehead. He had a headache – he’d had it since the Boyle party the night before but now it was returning full force.

_Just find Garrett,_ he told himself, moving to the stairs once more.

When he reached his chambers, he found them empty. It didn’t look like Garrett had been here at all – Sokolov’s papers were where he’d left them, and the items Garrett had stolen from Bunting’s safe were still on the beam he’d left them on.

He made to turn back, but the pain that lanced through his head caused him to stumble, placing a hand on the beam nearby to steady himself.

Something was wrong. Something was _very_ wrong.

Corvo had seen his fair share of people poisoned. He recognised the symptoms. His head was pounding with intensity far worse than the previous night, his mouth was dry, and he could barely stand upright.

He fell to his knees, bringing up his left hand in the vain the hope the Outsider had given him a gift to counteract the poison’s effects, but the mark did nothing more than sputter and fade as Corvo’s head hit the floor.                                                                                              

* * *

 

Voices drifted to him, indistinct at first, but growing louder.

“Samuel, you move like you’ve been drinking.” Harsh, loud. Overseer Martin. “Did the poison work its magic? Is he dead?”

So they meant to kill him. And Samuel was in on it too?

“It better have worked. It cost me a months profit.” Pendleton, voice quieter but no less harsh.

“Yessir, I believe Corvo has breathed his last. Just like you wanted.”

_Samuel?_

Corvo had been wary of Havelock and his cohorts, but Samuel had been a man he’d felt he could trust. Garrett had, too.

_Where was Garrett? Where was_ Emily?

“Remember, we need the body,” continued Martin – Corvo could make out his shape through barely-open eyes. “If we come forward with the corpse of the man who murdered the Empress, we’ll be greeted as heroes.”

Had they meant to kill him all along? Broke him out of Coldridge to do their dirty work and then dispose of him as Burrows had originally planned to?

_“I just find it strange that they waited until the day before your execution to get you out.”_ Corvo recalled Garrett’s words as they’d left Holger Square, the first night they’d met.

“And what of Garrett?” Pendleton asked. “I would love to put a bullet through that bastard’s skull myself.”

“Already did, sir,” Samuel said, his voice cold and unemotional. “Threw him into the river for good measure; he can’t swim.”

Martin laughed, the sound grating through Corvo’s already pain-wracked brain.

“We should have taken him out to the middle of the river and thrown him in ourselves, then. It would have been amusing to watch. Although, I must admit, I _do_ wonder where Corvo got him from.”

“And now we’ll never know,” Havelock answered. “In any case, having Corvo’s body will grant us legitimacy.  We’ll be the men who rescued Emily and brought down the Lord Regent and his assassin. You’ll see to the body, won’t you, Samuel?”

“Yes, sir.”

Corvo’s mind drifted again as he heard the three men leave.

_An Overseer, an Admiral and a noble walk into a bar,_ his muddled brain began.

“Corvo?” Samuel’s voice cut through the fog, and he attempted to focus on it, head listing sideways.

“I’m sorry something terrible, Corvo.” And there _was_ regret in Samuel’s voice, the sound of a man trapped between a rock and a hard place. “I only gave you half the poison. They were watching me and it was all I could think to do. I think you’re strong enough to survive that.”

Corvo was just pleased that at least one person in the damned place was still trying to help him.

_Look out for Emily,_ he silently pleaded, unable to voice his wish. _Get her safe._

“I’ll put you on a raft and then I’ve got to ship out, myself, before they find out I’ve gone against their wishes. Snakes,” he added, bitterly. “They’ll want to do the same to me as soon as I’ve outlived my uses.”

Samuel was far shrewder than many gave him credit for. Garrett had spotted that on numerous occasions. It was probably why Samuel had been the only other person who’d gained some stilted form of trust from the man.

 “I told Garrett to get out of here,” Samuel said, sending a wave of relief over Corvo. “I sent him through one of the quarantined districts. He’s strong, resourceful. I told him to look out for you. He’ll find you.”

Samuel rose. “Hopefully, you’ll both find your way out of this cursed city.”                                                                                               

* * *

 

The world was faded, green, and damp. Corvo didn’t have to be able to see much to know he was in the Flooded District.

_Even the terrible floods were not enough to wash away the sorrows of Dunwall._

At least he wasn’t alone. No, he had the thoughts of a dead Empress to accompany him, given to him by an entity from another realm.

He found the strength to raise his head, just in time to spot a pair of figures on the bridge ahead. They were hooded, and for a moment he thought that maybe it was Garrett, and his vision was just impaired.

That thought was quickly erased as the two disappeared and reappeared on the boat he was floating in.

“This is the one who was with the Empress when she died,” one spoke, voice muffled by his mask. He crouched, placing a hand on Corvo’s chest. “Poisoned. Tyvian stuff.”

“Amateur work,” his companion broke in. “He’ll live.”

“That’s up to Daud.”

_No. Not him._

Corvo tried to move, to _get out,_ to stand and face the man on his own terms. Instead, his head throbbed, a wave of nausea passed over him, and his mind went blank once more.

                                                                               

He was looking into the waters of the river, his marked hand trailing through the cold substance. The boat was moving faster now, pushed along by the Whaler who stood on the side.

More figures stood in the distance. Whalers.

 

Placed in a cage, lifted. More whalers, disappearing and reappearing. Playing tricks with his mind.

_Is this what it’s like for everyone else?_ He thought.

 

A man stood before him, garbed in a red coat. No mask. _Daud._

He held a box under his arm.

“I know a great deal, bodyguard,” he said. “I recognise those marks on your hand.”

Corvo lifted his head, staring down at the man who had killed the Empress. He didn’t seem particularly fazed or troubled. He gestured to Corvo’s left hand.

“A gift from your friend, the one who talks to you in the dark. Talks to you when you visit his shrines. I’ve visited those shrines too.”

Corvo had suspected the Outsider had exerted some sort of influence over Daud. Hearing it confirmed didn’t exactly embolden him.

Daud opened the box, revealing that it contained Corvo’s equipment.

“And I know what it felt like to shove a blade in your Empress,” he said, unfolding the sword.

There was no emotion to the statement. No elation, no remorse, just cold, hard, fact.

“But I don’t know _you,”_ Daud continued, putting the blade away. “Who you are and who you fight for. You’re a mystery, and I can’t allow that.”

He stood on a ledge – an abyss loomed before him. Corvo recognised the building as some sort of refinery. He could also hear the groans of Weepers on the lower levels.

It was almost pathetic, the way Corvo could barely move to try and stop his equipment from being hurled into the basement of the building. The mark on his hand flared, but to no avail – his vision went white as pain lanced through his head again, and he slumped forward in the cage.

The blow that knocked him out was almost a mercy.

Or it was, until he found himself stood before the Outsider.

_“Here you are at last, in a ruined and drowning world. Held captive by the man who killed your Empress, the assassin Daud. Your friends poisoned you and dumped your body in the river. Your only ally is lost somewhere in the waters. Did they do it to protect themselves, so no one would ever know what they’ve done? Or was it because they were a single move away from controlling an Empire, and they knew you’d never let them manipulate Emily? Maybe none of these. Perhaps that’s just the nature of man.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're gonna do something a little different next chapter; no prizes for guessing what it is, though.  
> That being said, I've no idea when the next chapter is going to be. On 12/01 I have to go back to Swansea to take an exam, I get back home on the 16/01 (ay my birthday) and then in theory I have to weeks before semester 2 of uni starts. In theory I can write another chapter in that time, if I get my arse in gear. We'll see how things go. I'll apologise in advance, though, right?
> 
> The Heart's words about standing on a precipice and leaping are taken from Flemeth from Dragon Age 2. I slightly modified them for Garrett and the Graven, but I thought them to be somewhat apt, and they're great words to live by.
> 
> I feel I should also mention, shoutout to the YouTuber ChristopherOdd, who's playthrough I've been using to form the basis of my fic. You did good, sir. Better than my first playthrough.  
> Oh, right, yeah. The weird bridge thing I made on the water lock to the wall of light circuitry? Totally forgot you could just... blink that distance.  
> Seriously, Havelock and Martin don't mention the super-secret fortress at the top of Dunwall Tower? But Samuel does? Samuel should get a pay rise.  
> And yes, hiding under the bed is completely cliched. I love that stuff.  
> We're getting close to the end, my friends! I'm still not sure /where/ I'm going to end this story, though.
> 
> Bonus fact, as of this chapter, this story is on 125 pages of word document and 62509 words. This is my longest ever endeavour. I'm proud to share it with you all.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You look like you’re having a worse day than me,” someone commented, causing Corvo to look up.  
> “Garrett?” he croaked, and the thief pulled his scarf down.  
> “Who else would it be?” he said, leaning down and offering his hand to Corvo, hauling him out of his makeshift prison. “All your other friends betrayed you, remember?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bet you all thought I'd forgotten this, heh.  
> But seriously.
> 
> Thank you all so much for your patience. University happened. But hey, I got some super awesome grades on my essays, took a some exams, and worked out a dissertation topic. 
> 
> But I do apologise for the long wait for this chapter. I hope it's worth it.
> 
> EXTRA SPECIAL THANKS FOR THIS CHAPTER GO TO TUMBLR USER SNEAKY-TAFFER. PLEASE GO SEND THEM LOVE, WITHOUT THEM THIS CHAPTER WOULD HAVE BEEN IMPOSSIBLE.

Today was not his day.

Truth be told, it hadn’t exactly been Garrett’s week. He’d planned on doing a few jobs for Basso, a few jobs for himself, and perhaps paying the Queen of Beggars a visit.

He’d not even finished the first job for Basso.

 _“It’s simple,”_ the man had sniffed, poring over a map of Dayport. “ _The painting’s in the front room of the house. Only just finished, apparently, but word is he ain’t gonna sell it.”_

 _“So you’re going to sell it for him,”_ Garrett had surmised. Basso had grinned from underneath his hat.

_“Exactly. I just need you to get the merchandise.”_

_“Fine. Don’t wait up.”_

_Don’t wait up._ The words seemed oddly ironic now, as Garrett heaved himself over the lip of a building, fixing the Claw back onto his hip as he did so.

He wondered if Basso had noticed his absence. He wondered if there even _was_ an absence to notice. Was there another Garrett in his city, doing the jobs he was supposed to do? Was time even progressing in his city?

The way the Outsider had spoken about events in Dunwall had put forth the notion that, yes, both places existed in the same state. Six months had passed since the events of the Graven Dawn, but the Gloom was still prevalent. All because _another_ city was staring down a series of calamitous events and the stone shard on this side of the Void was reacting and reverberating back to his home.

He’d wondered how the shard of Primal had found its way into Dunwall. A weakness in the Void? The Outsider probably knew, but Garrett knew he wasn’t exactly going to share. Garrett knew _he_ wouldn’t have, in the same position. It had apparently taken the Outsider six months to work up the effort – or the perhaps the courage – to summon Garrett’s aid in the first place.

He stood on the roof, looking at the expanse of city before him. It wasn’t home, but he felt _at_ home. Above the streets and on the Thieves Highway, where only the birds could disturb him. He was almost glad to be free of Corvo – his supernatural abilities were useful, but also confining. Garrett liked the way his job enabled him to use his mind to its full potential. Corvo provided a faster means to an end, but not a challenging one.

Corvo. He wouldn’t admit it, not willingly, but he was worried.

 _“Garrett, I don’t have time to explain,”_ Samuel had said when the pair of them had been the only ones left outside the bar. Samuel had pulled him away, away from the sounds of celebration that had echoed out from the building. Garrett had never seen the appeal of such events – he took pride in his work _as_ he did it, not afterwards.

  _“You need to get out of this place,”_ Samuel’s voice had been worried, urgent. _“Right now. Havelock and the others are fixin’ to kill ya and I’m not gonna let that happen.”_

Garrett hadn’t been surprised. Corvo had been too trusting of the men who’d called themselves ‘The Loyalists’. They were loyal to each other, yes, but neither he nor Corvo truly fit into their group. Corvo was their tool, their instrument in waging their private war against Burrows and his regime. He was also a foreigner, apparently. Like Sokolov was. Like Garrett, in a sense. Garrett knew little of Dunwall’s hierarchy, but it was always the same wherever you went. No matter how noble you appeared, how good your heart or your motives, a foreigner was _never_ considered to be equal to those who were born in the city. It was probably the same reason they’d never liked Garrett. They were just better at hiding their feelings concerning the Lord Protector.

He wondered what they would have said if they’d realised just _how_ foreign Garrett was.

So when Samuel had told him that they were being betrayed, he’d almost laughed.

“ _Gettin’ Corvo out’s gonna be more difficult,”_ Samuel had begun.

_“He’s not going to leave Emily behind.”_

_“No,”_ Samuel had agreed. _“I’ll make sure he gets out. I’ll send him out on a raft. You’ll need to look out for it.”_

 _“Where am I supposed to go?”_ Garrett had asked.

Samuel had shoved a crumpled piece of paper into his hands; a map. _“That way.”_ He’d pointed to a high wall. “ _The raft’ll end up somewhere around the Flooded District,”_ he’d said, indicating the place on the map. _“Make sure you find him, all sorts of bad folk live in that place. Hurry,”_ he’d said, and shoved Garrett. “ _They’ll come lookin’ for you soon. It’s too late for you to get Corvo now.”_

Garrett had known better than to disagree. Samuel was a good man – better than him, anyway. So, he’d made his way to one of the high walls surrounding their district, and made his escape.

Now he was stood on a rooftop, overlooking what had to be the most desolate place he’d seen yet. It had taken him hours to navigate his way through ramshackle buildings and empty streets to this point. Strangely, he’d found he’d missed Corvo’s companionship.

Not that his travels had been _entirely_ silent.

_They bring the bodies here. With rough hands. Rough hands and cages. Some of them are still breathing. The water is so cold and it is the last thing they feel._

“This place just keeps getting better,” he said aloud – or to the voice of Erin that filtered through his mind. He wasn’t sure.

The first time he’d heard Erin’s voice speak to him had been the morning after he’d met the Outsider. He’d faced Havelock, and something had told him to _look._ Look into the man who was sending them out to work.

And so he had. The Outsider’s gift to him – the eye of the Sneak Thief – had revealed layers of the man he’d carefully hidden from the world.

 _Look at him,_ a voice he recognised had said. _Admiral Havelock grows restless on land._

It had taken a lot of self-control for him to remain impassive, the first time he’d heard Erin speaking to him. And her words had sometimes proven useful – she helped him make sense of a world he could barely comprehend. Where people burned the flesh of whales to power their city, and where a deity with eyes as black as obsidian watched them do it.

“ _You’re not really Erin, are you?”_ he’d asked it once, when Corvo had been asleep in their shared room. He’d not expected it to reply.

 _No,_ the voice had agreed. _I am not. But I am enough of her to bring you comfort, am I not?_ A soft laugh. _Or as much comfort as Erin ever did bring you._

Garrett had smiled at that. “ _Gave me more trouble than you’re worth.”_

It had been better, to know it wasn’t truly Erin. He could pretend the real Erin was far away from him, hopefully living a better life than the one she’d been given by both him and the city. Truthfully, he didn’t know where she was or even if she was alive, but he’d found it better to not know. She wouldn’t have wanted him to anyway.

_I was always better on my own._

“Probably,” Garrett agreed, surveying the place before him. Without a doubt, it had to be the Flooded District. He wondered what its previous name was – surely it wasn’t flooded _all_ the time. Especially considering this district looked as though it hadn’t been surrounded by quarantine walls at one point.

Erin’s words had troubled him, however. This was a repository for the dead; a necropolis. And plague-ridden bodies were still likely to carry the contagion. Garrett had been immune to the Gloom because it was created as a side-effect of the stone embedded in his eye. This plague, however, was not caused by that same thing. It had been borne by rats from Pandyssia – wherever that was – and Garrett had noticed the place had a reputation for producing some _nasty_ things. Still, he now had the issue in that he needed to go into what was perhaps the most dangerous place within the city with little-to-no protection.

He crossed onto another rooftop, still attempting to work out a solution, when the sound of conversation made him halt. He’d learned back home that by listening to conversations, new opportunities could present themselves. He remembered the time he’d overheard some people speak about how the Baron’s Bust kept in the Watch Station near the Clock Tower Plaza had been too heavily guarded. Garrett had found it to be somewhat lacking in guards, but he was glad of the tip anyway.

The people within his earshot currently were discussing the general plight of the city, it seemed. Garrett spotted them through a hole in the roof he was stood on; three of them gathered around a fire made from the remnants of the building’s framework.

Normally Garrett wouldn’t be prone to such dramatics, but he needed more information about the place he was about to enter, and he didn’t have Basso, Corvo, or Samuel. He wasn’t that foolish to go in blind. So, he dropped through the gap in the roof, landing with a soft thud on the floor nearby, ensuring he was deliberately louder than he needed to be.

The group consisted of two men and a woman; all of them were justifiably frightened when they spotted him. Clearly they’d seen the wanted posters. Garrett raised his hands in a gesture of goodwill – something he wasn’t prone to either, but things hadn’t exactly gone his way lately. He needed a new approach.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said – a good start, he reckoned.

“You’re the one from those posters,” one of the men said. “The one who escaped the Overseers.”

“What do you want?” the woman challenged. She seemed to be the most dominant of the trio, so Garrett turned his attention to her.

 _The fabric of the city is made of such stuff as she,_ Erin supplied. She almost sounded like she admired the woman. He wondered what else the Eye saw in her.

“I _want_ information,” he said, stepping forward, towards them.

Before he could continue, the now-familiar sound of a city-wide announcement rang out nearby.

_“Attention Dunwall Citizens: Hiram Burrows, once known as the Lord Regent, is no longer in power. His corrupt and illegitimate regime has come to a close. Long live the Empress!”_

So, while Garrett had been moving through the ruined city, the Loyalists had done some moving of their own. It appeared they’d finally taken control of the Tower.

At the announcement, the three people before him looked to one another, momentarily forgetting him.

“Is it over?” one of the men asked.

“No,” Garrett cut in. “Trust me, it’ll only get worse. _Unless_ you help me.”

Okay, so he wasn’t exactlythe most charismatic of people, but he didn’t have to time to sugar-coat things. He’d seen power struggles like this in his own city, and with the added threat of the Primal shard looming over him, he _knew_ things were bound to get worse. But he couldn’t cross into the Flooded District without information on what he was getting into.

“What do you want?” the woman repeated.

“Like I said, information,” Garrett said. “About the place you people call the Flooded District.” He nodded his head in the direction of the quarantine wall.

“What do you want to know?” one of the men rasped, a cough rising on his lungs.

“What do you know about it? What did it used to be? Does anyone live there besides the dead and the dying?”

Samuel had mentioned bad people living in the Flooded District. Who they were and _how_ they lived there, he hadn’t specified.

The woman sniffed, settling down by their makeshift fire again. She clearly thought Garrett wasn’t a threat. He didn’t know whether he was proud or offended by that. Still, she motioned for him and her compatriots to join her; while the others settled down on the floor, Garrett remained standing. He wasn’t going to stay for long.

“Place used to be the Rudshore Financial District,” the woman informed him. “Until the dams broke and the place was flooded. People had to flee as the water came in.”

“Used to be pretty posh, too,” her companion interjected. “Before the place turned to shit and water, Rudshore was filled with barristers and money men. But then people were gettin’ sick and there was nobody to manage the dams, so the river came and washed it all away. Chamber o’ Commerce is in there somewhere, as is the Greaves’ Refinery.”

“For whale oil?” Garrett clarified.

“Right,” the man said. “Probably still some in there, but people don’t wanna risk gettin’ the plague to go get it. Between that and Daud’s people, you’d be mad to do it.”

Garrett frowned at the mention of Daud. He was the assassin who’d murdered the previous Empress, Jessamine. And she was someone Corvo had borne strong feelings for.

 _He loved her, and she him, but they could never give themselves freely to one another,_ Erin said, sadly. _Their duty came before their personal attachment. Do you think he regrets that?_

Garrett mused that Erin probably knew the answer to that one better than he did anyway.

“Nothing there now but gangs and rats and weepers,” the woman said.

“What can you tell me about Daud?” Garrett asked.

The three shared fearful looks at mention of Daud. His reputation was far-reaching indeed, if nobodies such as these three worried about him.

“We don’t know much,” one of the men said. “His people appear from nowhere, kill you quick, and leave. We only know he lives in the Flooded District ‘coz the Overseers knew it.”

“The Overseers?” Garrett asked, recalling the masked figures he’d seen when he’d first awoken. They had appeared to be religious-based guard force, enforcing against the influence of the Outsider. Not that it appeared to be working – Garrett had heard almost every curse in Dunwall refer to the deity who had been outlawed. It was like the Old Gods of his own city. People weren’t allowed to worship them anymore, but that didn’t mean they weren’t still venerated somehow. He’d opened many a locked cupboard to find a secret shrine in the older parts of the City before.

Garrett still wasn’t sure of the Overseers exact function, but they held a significant amount of power, considering the High Overseer had needed to be eliminated in order to gain more leverage for the Loyalists.

_The Abbey is dark – its doors are locked, and no more the great sermons. The Overseers have taken to the streets._

“They came by here the other day,” the other man said. “Headed into the district. I got close enough to hear they were headin’ for Daud’s base. Gonna drive out the heretic and his followers.”

“Did it work?” Garrett asked.

“Not all of them came out again, if that’s what you mean,” the woman said. “The Whalers left them alive, though.”

“The Whalers are Daud’s people,” the man said. “Wearin’ those outfits the people on the ships wear. _That’s_ how they survive that place. Wear those masks so they don’t catch plague off the corpses. Probably got a supply of elixir, too.”

“Do _you_ have any elixir?” Garrett asked, some sort of plan forming in his mind.

The three looked to each other at his question. Garrett realised they weren’t exactly going to give it up easily, especially so close to what was probably the most plague-ridden location in the entire city. He reached into the small pouch on the small of his back, drawing out a coin purse he’d liberated the night before. He tossed it onto the floor – he hadn’t exactly needed to purchase anything of note and he certainly wouldn’t have to in the foreseeable future. He _needed_ elixirs if he had any hope of staying safe from the plague.

“150 gold,” he said. “Is that enough to _buy_ some from you?”

Garrett only really liked to buy things if it were absolutely necessary, or if he depended upon a certain level of craftsmanship his thievery would not afford him. Merchants around the Plaza who sold components for his arrows (he didn’t buy them whole, but would buy different parts in different places so as to not arouse suspicion) were generally the only people he would buy from. Food and other less important supplies he could take as he pleased.

Elixir in Dunwall was in very short supply, he’d heard as much over various announcements and the way people scuffled over the smallest amount. He’d seen a bootleg still in Slackjaw’s distillery; he’d seen how the guards of the tower were paid in amounts of elixir _and_ gold.

The three had apparently not seen such a large concentration of gold before, they looked at it like was an explosive. Garrett dealt in large amounts of money on a regular basis, but he could appreciate that this amount _was_ a lot to people such as this.

“If you’re truly offering _this_ I’ll _make_ you elixir,” the woman said, as the two men fumbled in their pockets for the vials Garrett needed. He ended up with three, two red and one blue – he passed one of the red ones back.

“I only need one of each,” he mumbled- was one of the men _crying?_ It was only gold. Garrett might trade in it, but he didn’t do it _for_ the gold, he did it for the process involved in gaining the gold. And getting this amount of gold hadn’t taken him any effort at all. Sometimes it was easy to forget that the obtaining of money such as this wasn’t such a simple task for most people.

He stepped back from the three as they distributed the gold amongst themselves. They didn’t argue about it, something that Garrett was surprised by. Often when faced with large amounts of money a group would quickly devolve into something much baser, but clearly these three had been through so much together that they didn’t even _think_ of trying to double-cross one another. It was refreshing, somewhat.

 _All that they had was lost in the flood,_ Erin whispered to him. _All that they have now is each other. They find solace in the warmth of each other’s bodies._

Garrett struggled to keep his face straight at the final comment, and appraised the three again. He noticed it, now, how their touches lingered just a fraction too long on another, the slightly furtive yet _loving_ glances all _three_ shared.

Well, each to their own, he guessed.

He’d gotten what he needed, so he stepped into the next room, a bathroom. Stopping up the sink was an easy task, and he unstopped the vials of elixir. The red one, he recalled, was made by Sokolov, a health tonic of some sort. The blue declared itself as ‘Piero’s Spiritual Remedy’. From what Garrett could tell, they did the same sort of thing, just worked on different areas. While Sokolov’s was more befitting of his position as the Royal Physician, Piero’s was more reflective of a man who spent his time brooding over the machinations of a mind.

Garrett had broken into what Piero had used as a workshop (well, the door was open, so it wasn’t _technically_ breaking in) while Corvo had been asleep once. It was the first morning he’d been at the Hound Pits, after the Outsider had drawn them into the Void. Inside he’d found a cutting from a newspaper, a discourse by Piero himself on the nature of his elixir. _My own has properties,_ it had said, _not fully understood, that relate to the mind itself, and the spirit._

To Garrett, it had been suspicious – Piero created his remedies but he wasn’t sure _how_ they worked _._ But, they _did_ work, and at the moment he wasn’t going to dwell on it.

He emptied both the remedies into the sink, reaching into a pocket and drawing out the now truly-crumpled poppy he’d kept. He tore up the petals, immersing them in the mixture.

Truly? He had no idea what he was doing, but he figured that combining the remedies was a good thing to do. They both _worked,_ after all. The poppy was just an added insurance, something _he_ knew worked.

When the two substances were mixed sufficiently, he removed his scarf, immersing the cloth in the substance, now purple. Thankfully, the elixirs didn’t smell, so he wouldn’t have to breathe in the fumes of what would likely be fish or whale. He wouldn’t have been surprised to find out the elixirs contained parts of whales inside them. He shivered slightly at that thought, pushing it out of his mind for a moment.

When the cloth was soaked through, he filled up the empty vials with the newly mixed elixir, instantly drinking one. He almost threw it up again a moment later, and retched, gripping the sink with both hands.

Sputtering, he managed to keep the substance down, regretting that he didn’t take a test sip or _something._ The elixir might not smell of anything, but it certainly _tasted_ of things he didn’t want to name.

“People consume this willingly?” he muttered to himself, stowing the other vial away, just in case.

He stepped back out into the main room, holding his sodden facemask in his hand, before stepping over to the fire and holding it over it in an effort to dry it.

“You’re going into the district,” it was the woman who spoke, not a question, but a direct statement. Garrett nodded his assent.

“ _Why?”_

Garrett looked up at the three people in front of him. Was that _worry?_ He didn’t know these people, and all he’d done was trade money with them.

But, the answer was simple.

“To find a friend.”

The cloth had dried sufficiently; he arranged it over the lower half of his face, thankful it didn’t smell as horrific as the elixir had tasted.

“I would leave here,” he advised the three. “Find some other place to spend your money.”

                                                                               

* * *

 

Climbing the wall into the Flooded District was far easier than Garrett expected. He supposed people weren’t concerned with who went into the place, only who came out.

Atop the wall, he quickly scouted for the tallest building, so he could get a better look around the area. The map Samuel had given him was basic, but it was better than nothing. Once he’d found a decent place to take a look around, he could attempt to start marking the map up with relevant locations.

Or, he would have, if he hadn’t found his goal almost immediately.

Crouched on a rooftop, he watched as a masked man piloted a boat with another figure lying inside it. Even from a distance, Garrett could tell it was Corvo.

 _His usefulness was spent. They long for news of his death,_ Erin informed him.

“What about mine?” Garrett muttered, affronted.

_They think you are dead. They also do not think you are competent enough to challenge them. A thief, no matter how skilled, is no threat to a government._

“Tell that to Baron Northcrest.”

He crept forward on his rooftop, laying himself flat to minimise his silhouette – a break in a skyline’s symmetry often gave away lesser thieves.

He recognised the masks and coats. These men were Whalers.

He’d felt Corvo’s fear when they’d faced them in the Distillery District. It wasn’t noticeable, not as such, but Erin had caused him to look into the man’s heart.

 _They stopped him from defending the Empress. They robbed him of his ability to fight, and then they robbed him of her life,_ Erin had whispered. At the time, Garrett had felt something like sympathy for Corvo. He had some experience in losing someone to forces beyond your control, after all.

Facing the Whalers head on would be tantamount to suicide. Garrett was no warrior, and these men were _assassins._ And, as he watched, they were gifted with similar powers to Corvo – one flickered out of existence for a moment, to reappear on a nearby bridge.

 _That_ was going to be a problem. For now, he ignored it. It was unlikely the Whalers knew of his existence, or his presence in the district, at least. Corvo had provided both a problem _and_ a distraction.

Following the boat was easy enough, the buildings were still close enough together for him to leap between them easily. The water below worried him slightly, but as long as he kept to high ground he was safe.

Eventually they came to a place that reeked of things that should have died in the deep ocean. Garrett had never seen a whale oil refinery before, but he didn’t need to be told that was what he was looking at. A large poster on the wall declared it as part of the Greaves Lightning Oil Company. For a long moment, he gazed at the poster, or more importantly, the name _Greaves._ His mind was drawn back the rotting Vale Street Ironworks, filled with equally rotting corpses and a dead man with an important ring. It was probably a coincidence, right?

 He wondered how many of these refineries there were in the city. Samuel had mentioned a slaughterhouse before, but he had implied there were many more such places.

As abysmal as it was, Garrett couldn’t help but be curious as to how oil was extracted from a whale. As far as he could tell, the whales that resided in this place were nothing like the ones in his own world. Not that he’d seen one of _those,_ either – the City wasn’t exactly the best place for a sea creature.

While Garrett had been ruminating on the hows and whys of whale oil production, the Whalers had been busy, transferring Corvo into some cage. Now he was out of the boat, he looked even worse, hanging loosely over the side rail, listless and barely moving.

_Can you see his rage? He wishes to fight._

Garrett blinked a few times, focusing on the man, and saw that Erin’s words were true. While he was immobile to a certain degree, subtle movements hinted that there was far more going on in Corvo’s mind. Garrett could see the seething rage simmering below the surface of Corvo’s skin, the broiling torment directed outwards. Physically, though, he barely twitched. Whatever the other Loyalists had done to him, it was enough to sap Corvo’s strength enough that he didn’t have a choice in whether he would fight or not. He was pale, sweating, and if Garrett were an expert, he would have suggested poison.

He remembered, once, in the past, he’d been hidden in a closet in a dining room at some noble’s in Greystone – stupid mistake, too eager for loot – when they’d held a _dinner party._ Except this dinner party had ended with four nobles dead and a fifth entirely bemused by the fact that almost everyone there had apparently double-crossed and poisoned each other. The resulting confusion had given him enough time to slip out unnoticed. He hadn’t looted the bodies; he’d taken enough from the house as it was, and it had just seemed wrong, to steal from a body that had not grown cold.

The cage had moved, placed to a walkway outside the refinery. Garrett could see a man, dressed in a coat similar to the Whalers, except it was a deep red in colour. He was also unmasked – dark hair and a face with a scar cutting across its right side.

 _Daud. Paid assassin,_ Erin whispered to him, not that Garrett needed telling. _His hands do violence, yes, but there is a different dream in his heart._

“Is that supposed to make me feel sorry for him?”

_It is supposed to help you understand him. See the man who killed the Empress._

Garrett was too far to hear the conversation between Daud and Corvo – well, the speech made by the former. Corvo’s rage was evident, though, considering who Daud was and what he represented. While the former Lord Regent had been the one who’d brought Corvo’s world crashing down around him, Daud had been his instrument, his tool. No matter how much he reasoned it was the man’s job, Garrett knew Corvo would always harbour a deep hatred of the man.

Daud was holding a box – it had been in the boat with Corvo – and Garrett saw him unfold a sword. He recognised the blade: it was the one Corvo had held to his throat when he’d first awoken in Dunwall, strapped to the chair in the Overseer compound. Corvo hadn’t had the need to use it since. While Garrett abhorred carrying lethal weapons – his arrows were a last resort, and the small knife he had strapped to his ankle was for cutting rope more than flesh – he reasoned that in _this_ District, it would likely benefit them if they had weapons. Garrett was good at evading others, but if all the Whalers had powers akin to Corvo’s, it would be far more problematic.

Plus, he didn’t think Corvo would want to go unarmed up against the man who had killed a woman he had loved.

Corvo had been knocked out – a rather savage blow to the back of the head – and the cage was being hauled away. Garrett was left with a dilemma. He could either follow the cage and recover Corvo, or stay at the refinery and recover his weapons, and then hopefully find the man afterward.

For the moment, he settled himself with watching the movements of the Whalers and the cage containing his ally – it moved further into the district. Daud didn’t follow, he simply vanished from existence. If all the Whalers were going to do that, Garrett was going to have to be much more careful where he trod.

And he was probably going to find Corvo’s crossbow and its sleep darts more useful than his blackjack.

Decision made, he held his position, lying flat on the rooftop, watching the cage disappear into the distance. Likely, Corvo wouldn’t be housed very far from it – and Garrett doubted that Daud or his men would kill the man, not if there was to be coin made from it.

Soon enough, the area around the refinery was clear, aside from a crowd of Weepers patrolling the partially-flooded street nearby. As long as he was careful, Garrett reasoned, they were not likely going to cause a problem for him.

At the moment, his main problem was getting off this rooftop and into the refinery. Scanning the roofs around him, Garrett found he was most likely going to have to climb down to street level to make any headway. Checking to make sure there were no Whalers lurking to spot him, he rose, shaking loose his limbs and moving to the edge of the roof.

From here, it was a sheer, precipitous drop to the ground. As far as he could tell, Garrett was going to have to skirt his way around the refinery in a circle, until he could use a way to get down. His rope arrows wouldn’t reach that far, and neither would the rope coiled onto the end of the claw. So, skirt he did, carefully leaping across alleyways until he was near what looked like the entrance to the refinery grounds. In the courtyard below, the Weepers roamed; three, by his count.

 _He bought the finest elixirs,_ Erin’s voice commented as Garrett gazed down at one of them, _perhaps he didn’t take them in time._

Garrett huffed out a breath at her words, suddenly feeling not at all confident in his impromptu remedy.

A drainpipe allowed him to shimmy down to a balcony, and soon enough he was crossing a slightly disintegrated walkway to a ventilation duct that would allow him over the wall and into the refinery proper. The Weepers didn’t notice him, thankfully, although he wasn’t entirely sure how much they were able to perceive in their current state.

 _Pity them, but from a distance,_ Erin advised. Garrett decided to heed that piece of advice, turning and climbing onto the duct and over the wall. From what he could tell, a stairway would provide him access to the refinery – the only open entrance was near the roof – but it was closed off, folded away by some mechanism. Most likely, it was to deter oil thieves during a time when the place lived under its former name of the Rudshore Financial District.

Upon dropping down into what had formerly been an office, Garrett found the stairs were actually powered by a tankard of whale oil. _Of course._ A note pinned to the table described a backup power supply in case of failure.

He knew what the tanks looked like, and he could see the receptacle where it was placed. He just hoped the people working the refinery had left as quickly as the other residents of the district. Carefully pushing open the door, he crept onto the stairs outside, wary of anything nearby.

 He blinked a few times, focusing his Eye – he’d taken to not contemplating how it worked; it made more sense than Corvo’s _Heart_ at least – and scanning for threats. All he could see were the Weepers on the other side of the wall; the refinery itself was decidedly empty. Or its walls were too thick for Garrett’s vision to penetrate. It wasn’t like the Outsider had been specific, after all.

He found a tank dispenser nearby, and a filling station. Thankfully, everything was labelled. Garrett was also glad of the fact that Dunwall had the same language as his home.

Upon lifting the now-filled tank, he suddenly recalled Corvo’s words about the volatility of the oil. Grimacing, he slowly made his way up the stairs – the tank was _heavy,_ and his added worry about the stability of the substance inside was making him move slower than he would have liked.

This close to the oil, he was more repulsed than ever. He could feel it on his fingertips, slick and gelatinous. He shuddered, remembering the source of the substance.

_When the last leviathan is gone, darkness will fall._

Garrett made a face, heaving the tank into the designated receptacle, before reaching into his quiver and pulling out one of his mainly defunct water arrows. He unscrewed the head – it was a glass projectile, filled with water – and poured it over his hands. He didn’t want to be covered in the oil forever (certainly not with the way it smelled) but he didn’t exactly trust the stinking mire that was the floodwater outside. Plus, right next to the refinery, he couldn’t be sure that it wasn’t contaminated with the substance. He placed the headless arrow back into his quiver – it would work in the same way as a blunt arrow, now.

When he pulled the lever that operated the stairs, Garrett cringed, as a cacophony of shrieking metal and moving machinery echoed through the area. Hopefully there was nobody around to hear it – nobody aware enough to care, anyway. With a final rattle, the stairs settled. Garrett climbed them quickly, lest the noise had attracted attention, before he came to some broken catwalks that would take him around the outside of the building.

When he was on the far side, he halted, alerted by a sound. He blinked a few times, focusing his vision, until he saw, through the wall, three Whalers stood on a balcony around the corner.

Crouched on the piping, Garrett strained to hear their conversation, praying they would move on.

_“Do you think his friend will come here?”_

Well, _shit._  Garrett’s main advantage had been the notion that the Whalers wouldn’t know he was there.

 _“Difficult to tell,”_ one of the Whalers answered, voice muffled by his mask. _“We don’t know who he is or what his relation to the Protector is. We don’t even know where he is now. We should watch the streets – we’ll see him from the rooftops.”_

 _“If nothing else, we can cut him off at the market,”_ the third supplied. “ _He can’t get through the rail station without a key.”_

_“They’re both resourceful. They’ll find a way.”_

The three blinked out of existence, and Garrett waited a full minute before he dared to move. He’d been given some information at least: the Whalers weren’t too concerned with movement on the rooftops (a mistake), and a way out of this district was through a rail station of some sort. He consulted the map Samuel gave him, but the place wasn’t marked.

He would have to hope that Corvo knew where he was going.

 _Not like you to leave an exit strategy to hope,_ Erin whispered in his ear, as he mounted a chain.

“It’s been a trying day,” Garrett muttered in response.

The refinery had some sort of drawbridge contraption preventing access, and it wasn’t powered. Once more, Garrett had to set about retrieving a tank of whale oil to gain access – this time he covered his hands with a rag he found nearby.

He flinched at the second cacophony of noise that erupted with the drawbridge’s powering – now he knew the Whalers were around he was even more wary of someone hearing and coming to investigate.

The box of gear was at the very bottom of the refinery: Garrett could see it when he crouched on the edge of the drawbridge. He grasped a nearby chain – it would bring him about halfway down, but it was a fairly easy climb from there on out.

Halfway down the chain, he froze, gripping the metal links with hands and thighs. He cast a glance below him, ears and eyes straining to pick out the source of the noise that had caused him to halt.

_Weepers._

Of course, it had been too much to hope that maybe there weren’t any inside the building. Garrett moved much more slowly after that, attempting to keep the chain from rattling too much. He lightly dropped to the metal platform, aware of the Weeper that was leaning over the long-dead campfire nearby. The guttural moans echoed about him, alerting him to more than one of the former people in the building.

Scanning around (with the help of the Eye), he picked out three or four forms – one of them he wasn’t sure of, it was hunched in the corner and not moving; it could be dead. He backed out onto the catwalk, crouching down and grabbing the chain that hung from the metal – in the middle of the room, the Weepers couldn’t get to him. Especially not when he was suspended from a chain.

He climbed swiftly down, the stench of whale – _what else? –_ assaulting his senses; smell and taste both. It was a miracle the Weepers hadn’t perished from the stench alone. Maybe they didn’t have their sense of smell left to them.

His prize was below him; he quickly shimmied down the last few feet of chain and dropped to the floor, landing directly beside the box.

Crouching, he checked the equipment over, picking up the crossbow and the belt of bolts that came with it. He strapped the latter around his waist, above his own belt. The crossbow seemed to be in working order, the mechanism worked fine and the string wasn’t damaged from its fall.

The sword was another issue – Garrett had only seen the blade in action once, and he’d been too preoccupied at the time to study its motions. It had mostly hung on Corvo’s hip, folded away. Looking at the pommel and the grip, he couldn’t see any button that triggered it’s unfolding, and was thus unable to see if it were still usable.

A heavy wheeze made him start, and he spun to see a blur of red and black come hurtling towards him; the Weeper he’d discounted before was very much alive. He acted on instinct, bringing his arms up before him in some sort of defensive pose as the mass of plague-ridden human barrelled into him.

He wasn’t sure what he registered first: the faint metallic _snick_ of the sword unfolding or the feeling of warm blood spilling onto his hands. The sudden weight leaning on him caused Garrett to topple backwards, the Weeper landing on top of him, sword still implanted somewhere within its ribcage. He heaved the body off him as it writhed and gurgled in its last throes, blood staining the floor and Garrett’s arms further.

He took a breath, immediately regretting it as the iron and copper scent of blood hit him. He stepped back from the body, attempting to calm his emotions.

 _Focus,_ his mind told him. He couldn’t tell if it was his own voice or Erin’s. _Check for other Weepers._

A quick scan above and around him showed there was nobody else in the vicinity that could surprise him. Crouched in the filth of the refinery floor, Garrett closed his eyes, breathing slowly to calm his pounding heart.

The Weeper was dead. He didn’t need his gifts to tell him that. He’d felt the sword pierce its lung, maybe even its heart.

 _They live in constant misery, until death finally releases them,_ Erin’s voice filtered through his mind. Garrett’s eyes snapped open, and he stared at the huddled and still form of the Weeper.

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” he snapped to the empty air.

 _You always did have a soft heart,_ the voice told him.

He needed to get the sword out. Corvo would want it back, and as much as it pained him, he didn’t want to go through Daud’s territory armed with just his Blackjack and a few meagre arrows. His tiny knife wasn’t going to help them, not here.

He held his breath as he rolled the body over, leaning away slightly as more blood leaked onto the floor.

What he didn’t expect was to recognise it.

Garrett had never met High Overseer Campbell. The first time he’d seen the man, he’d been strapped to a chair. But there was no mistaking the harsh, diagonal lines that cut across his eye – the brand Corvo had used on him. The man had been cast out of the Abbey, Corvo had said. Garrett hadn’t known what that had entailed then, but looking down upon the dead man, he wondered if Corvo had known this would have been Campbell’s eventual fate.

He almost laughed. Corvo had been _so against_ killing people directly because of the former Empress. Garrett had just finished the job for him. In the same way he’d been the one to fully condemn the Pendletons to end their days in a silver mine, the same way he’d caused a distraction to enable Corvo to get Esma Boyle to the basement of her manor, the same way he’d played the audio card that ended Burrow’s reign over the city.

Garrett had distanced himself from the events as he saw fit. Focused on his own mission: the retrieval of the stone shard. The other parts were important, yes, but distractions. He helped because, realistically, he’d had no other choice. It was only now he realised that his supposed distancing had only embroiled him further into the mess Dunwall was in.

_You did better here than you did in our home. Or did you do worse?_

Garrett ignored the voice of Erin, ignored the slight tremor in his hand as he gingerly pulled the sword out, blade slick with blood. He twisted his hand; the blade folded away, mechanism reacting to the motion.

He stood up, trying to ignore the corpse in front of him, placing the folded sword on the belt that had the crossbow bolts strapped to it. He needed to focus. Corvo was still somewhere in the district, and he still had a stone shard to find somewhere _else_ in this damned city. It was going to be a lot more difficult now the Loyalists had taken power.

Getting out of the refinery was impossible at this level, so Garrett mounted one of the chains and hauled himself up; blood still sticky on his palms. He’d had nothing to clean them with. The fetid water outside was looking more appealing by the second. The first catwalk he came to had a door next to it, a wheel nearby allowed him to open it.

He was glad to be assaulted with the stench of the river. It seemed fresher than the cloying atmosphere in the refinery. He quickly leapt down onto a pile of crates, moving towards the water’s edge. The river wasn’t exactly the cleanest, but it was enough for Garrett to clean his hands and remove the blood.

Turning back towards the district proper, he spotted a patch of River Krusts grouped at the base of the wall.

 _They send orphan boys into the water to find pearls hidden in the Krusts,_ Erin whispered. _The pearls last forever, not so the poor boys._

Garrett ignored her words, instead mentally plotting his route back to where he’d last seen Corvo. He hoped it wasn’t far.

On the far side of the courtyard were some metal struts that climbed all the way to the rooftop; Garrett nimbly scaled them, so he would be able to avoid the Weepers and Krusts.

On the rooftop, he quickly moved in the general direction he’d last seen the Whalers take Corvo, careful to look out for the assassins who would likely be patrolling. Up here, at least, he could avoid the water and the Weepers.

He almost missed it, from his position high on the rooftop. A glint of gold, spotted in the periphery. Gold was enough to draw Garrett’s eye any day. In a place like this, it was more than enough.

The source, however, was altogether more grim. Before Garrett’s feet lay a veritable pile of Overseers. The gold he’d spotted had been the light glinting off their masks. One of them, he noticed, was _still alive._ Just.The man crawled towards him, heaving out his final, grating breaths, before he shuddered and fell still; face down on the concrete floor.

 _They were left as a warning to those the assassins left alive,_ Erin told him. _Probably better for you, less of them means less people to hinder people like us._

“People like _us?”_ Garrett muttered, scanning the other bodies for signs of life.

A piece of paper fluttered in the dead man’s clutches, bloodied and hastily scrawled on. Garrett crouched, plucking it from the man’s grip.

 _The assassins sprung their traps as we tried to cross the narrow bridge,_ he made out, the writing barely legible. It was probably the Overseer’s final words. _At that choke point they were able to pick us off one by one._

 _Now I’m the only one left alive-_ Garrett paused to spare a quick glance at the Overseer. He didn’t feel sorry for the man, not as such. The man had made his choice in life, he’d joined the Overseers for a reason, after all. But Garrett did get an overwhelming sense of _waste._ They’d been no match for the assassins of this district.

 _Please,_ the note continued, _if a second group attempts to come through this way, beware of that bridge. They are listening for the sound of the door opening. Keep an eye on the rooftops. Even a small number of them is more than a match._

Garrett crumpled the note in his hand, gazing down at the dead Overseers. Looking at them – and the note – he learned several things. The Whalers were fast and quiet. Only one of the corpses even had his sword drawn. They were aware of threats coming to their base, and were listening out for it. They were watching both the streets _and_ the rooftops.

But most of all, he learned the Whalers were very _, very,_ deadly.

Garrett had learned to avoid assassins in his time. He’d considered joining the profession, briefly, during his younger years, but found killing for coin to his distaste. He was much better taking things and leaving the people alive, if only to hear their reactions upon finding their valuables missing. Death was the _last_ resort. When Erin had moved on from being just a thief, he’d avoided her too, unless the necessity of a job had brought them together.

 _Look how that worked out,_ he thought to himself.

But here, in this district, he had to do more than just _avoid_ the assassins. He had to make sure they didn’t see him at all. He had more than enough sense to know he would not win a fight against the Whalers. Being spotted would most likely lead to his death.

 _Or_ his capture, he reasoned, which could bring him closer to Corvo.

He couldn’t leave it to chance, though. He’d already taken enough chances in this district alone. So, he passed through the door the dead Overseers were arrayed around, still no clearer on his plan.

More dead Overseers awaited him inside, but he passed them by, coming to another metal door that was opened by a wheel. He didn’t open it, instead looking for another way out of the room that wouldn’t draw the attention of the likely patrolling Whalers.

A broken skylight – a quick throw of the claw enabled him to climb to the rooftop. Up there, he had an unrestrained view of an entirely flooded street. He couldn’t see any Whalers, but he knew better than to hope they weren’t around. He was getting closer to Daud’s base – the makeshift bridge in front of the building he was stood on hadn’t built itself, after all.

A building further away drew his attention. From here, he could see a wide-open doorway and a broken catwalk. Seemingly no access from ground level – the floodwater was too high.

So why then, was the door open?

Garrett moved to the edge of his rooftop, peering at the aforementioned building. _There-_ a flicker on the edge of his vision. A Whaler materialised on the catwalk – Garrett could see the subtle warp of the air around him. He’d often felt the sensation of the disturbed air when Corvo had transported them both.

There was no reason for the Whalers to be over there – not if Daud’s main complex was across the bridge. Not unless they were guarding someone.

Of course, Garrett’s only problem now was the large expanse of water that prohibited him from getting to the building. He could tell it was deep, too deep for him to wade through. From here, his only solution would be to walk along a precarious-looking wall to the base of the building.

The only issue was that it was _completely_ in the open. If he were spotted, he wouldn’t stand a chance.

He’d made it this far. He wasn’t going to be able to go much further, anyway, not without help. Garrett slowly made his way down the side of the building, quickly crossing the bridge to reach the wall.

Down at water level, the smell of the river was even worse – it was more than an open sewer, reeking of filth and excrement. It mingled with years’ worth of decay and death – rotting wood and masonry, blood and slaughter. The wall was another problem – changing water levels over a period of time had left it slippery and precarious. Speed was not going to aid him here.

He gritted his teeth, moving slowly along the wall, careful not to disturb the water either side of it. He kept a careful eye on the building he was aiming for, using his supernaturally enhanced vision to do so. There were four bodies in the building. Two moving, two not. Considering his previous experience in the refinery, he wasn’t about to discount the unmoving bodies as threats.

At one point, he slipped, lichen and wet stone working against him. His left leg fell halfway into the water, crouched position jarring it painfully. Garrett froze, eyes closing for a moment, listening for any sign that he had been noticed.

 Ten seconds, nothing.

He slowly pulled his leg out of the water, wincing with the movement, before looking up at the building once more. The Whalers apparently hadn’t noticed. Garrett continued, moving slowly, ignoring the stabbing pain in his thigh.

He finally reached the end of the wall, and slowly unfolding his bow, acutely aware of the creaking of the mechanism. From here, he could fire a rope arrow that would reach to the water level; he would just have to jump to catch it. An easy enough task, if it were not for the water.

He fired the arrow. It lodged on the edge of the catwalk, and Garrett quickly placed his bow on his back, drawing Corvo’s crossbow instead.

As anticipated, one of the Whalers materialised, investigating the clang of metal on metal. Garrett wasted no time in firing one of the sleep darts, thankful that it penetrated the thick material of the Whaler’s coat. The Whaler crumpled, hitting the railing, and Garrett saw, with his enhanced vision, the second guard turning, drawing a sword.

The Whaler advanced upon his fallen friend, moving slowly, searching. Garrett was patient, however, and waited. Soon, the Whaler stepped out onto the catwalk. He too fell to a sleep dart.

Certain that he wasn’t about to be caught mid-climb, Garrett stowed the crossbow away, slowly rising and shimmying along the wall.

“It’s only water,” he muttered to himself, before setting his jaw and leaping for the rope, hands outstretched to catch it, like any other time.

It wasn’t his best jump – the pain in his leg hindered him – and neither was it his most elegant, but he caught the rope, swinging precariously towards the wall. The metal catwalk above him groaned, and Garrett held himself still, legs and cloak dangling into the water.  When he was sure that the creaking had stopped, he climbed, slowly, hauling himself with his arm muscles alone.

He finally made it over the railing, finding himself in a warehouse of sorts. Below him, were cells of some sort – he slowly crept down some stairs towards his target.

A retching sound made him freeze, and he held still for a few moments, trying to place the noise. It had come from one of the cells. He squinted towards them, his Eye showing him one of the figures was stirring, leaning over.

The first cell he came to – the one with the unmoving figure – revealed a dead Overseer, legs cruelly broken. Garrett moved on, to the next one, which was closed.

When he opened it, he wasn’t sure who looked worse: Corvo, or the unfortunate rat the man had just thrown up on.

“You look like you’re having a worse day than me,” he commented, causing Corvo to look up at him.

Corvo, if Garrett were honest with himself, looked like _shit._ The distance between them at the refinery had hidden the worst of the man’s condition. He was pale, sweaty, and the skin around his mouth was tinged a blue colour. All symptoms of a barely-survived poisoning. His eyes, however, were sharp and aware.

“Garrett?” the man croaked, and the thief allowed himself a small smile, before he pulled his scarf down.

“Who else would it be?” he said, leaning down and offering his hand to Corvo, hauling him out of his makeshift prison. “All your other friends betrayed you, remember?”

He wouldn’t admit it, but Garrett felt a certain amount of weight lift off his heart upon finding Corvo. He was, Garrett supposed, the only friend he had in this place. Possibly the only friend he had _at all –_ it wasn’t like he particularly counted Basso or the Queen of Beggars as friends of his.

Corvo clearly wasn’t at one hundred percent – he leaned against Garrett after being pulled out of the cell, so Garrett sat him down on one of the crates. He moved to a nearby table, picking up a tankard of water – clearly used by the Whalers – and some bread that was surprisingly not stale.

“Here,” he said, handing them both to Corvo. “You need to clean out your system.”

While Corvo ate, Garrett searched the nearby table, coming up with Corvo’s mask and a bounty letter. Garrett wasn’t on it, he noted, not sure whether to be proud or irritated by that fact.

“I’m sure I don’t need to tell you how bad this is,” he began, as he moved to the unconscious Whalers and began to haul them towards Corvo’s empty cell. It wouldn’t do for them to be spotted, after all.

“You don’t,” Corvo answered him, voice soft.

“I’m going to tell you anyway,” Garrett replied. “Your so-called allies have turned on you – well, except Samuel – and we’re in a district inhabited by Assassins, Weepers, and dead Overseers. While you were out, Havelock and his people have taken control of Dunwall Tower. No, I don’t know where Emily is, I _barely_ know where we are, aside from being close to Daud’s hideout.”

He stood up, looking down at the two Whalers now lying in the cell. It would have to do, he supposed, and he turned back to Corvo.

“I did manage to get your things,” he said, pulling out the sword and crossbow, handing them both over to the man.

The blade unfolded as Corvo inspected the weaponry, and Garrett felt a twinge in his gut when he saw the dried blood staining the metal.

“What happened?” Corvo asked him, raising an eyebrow.

Garrett huffed out a breath. “An incident in the refinery,” he said, “with the former High Overseer.”

 Corvo apparently didn’t need further explanation, for he nodded, folding the blade away. He stood, walking past Garrett and out onto the catwalk, looking down onto the ruined district.

“How did you get through the floodwater?” he asked, as Garrett followed him onto the metal structure.

“With difficulty,” he replied. “The way to Daud’s base is over there,” he added, pointing to the makeshift bridge.

In his periphery, he saw the glance Corvo cast him, so he turned to face the man properly. “I don’t need you to tell me that we’re going to go after him. I worked _that_ out when I saw you two at the refinery. And, plus, he _must_ know of a way out of the district that doesn’t involve going over the wall. Now Havelock and the others have taken control of the city, they’re going to be watching this district closely. If the Admiral’s worth his rank he’s astute enough to work out where you’d end up. And plus, _Martin_ is another man I wouldn’t be so quick to cast aside, especially now he’s High Overseer.”

The people he’d met outside the district had made no mention of the Whalers scaling the wall. And while they were adept men, Garrett could tell they didn’t have the capabilities to climb said wall often, supernaturally enhanced or no.

“Daud controls this territory, it would make sense he controls the ways in and out,” Garrett added, folding his arms. “His men mentioned something about a rail station, too.”

“You’ve been busy,” Corvo commented.

“Not all of us got to sleep our way into this place,” Garrett replied.

“I was _poisoned.”_

Garrett snuffed a laugh. “I guessed as much,” he said. “Not that they did it very well,” he added. “You’re still alive.”

“Samuel only gave me half,” was the reply.

“Of course,” Garrett said. “That’s how he knew where you were going.”

“What happened to you?” Corvo asked him. “Samuel made the others believe he’d shot you and thrown you in the river.”

“And they fell for it?” Garrett asked. The earlier credit he’d given Havelock and Martin dissipated somewhat. He was even _less_ impressed with them now. He hadn’t even been sure if that had been possible. In response to Corvo, he shrugged. “Samuel told me to get out. I wasn’t surprised they’d turned on us. They _hate_ me and you were only ever a means to an end. And, of course, bringing me into your club only made them more wary of you.”

 _Even now, it surprises him to hear that,_ Erin whispered to him.

Garrett wondered whether it was naivety or some sort of false hope Corvo had kept, to be surprised by that statement. Maybe Garrett was just more cynical.

“We need to move,” he said. “Staying in one place too long isn’t a good thing to do.”

“How do we get down?” Corvo asked him, peering over the catwalk.

“I’m taking the rope,” Garrett said. “I would advise you to do the same,” he added. “I don’t know how deep the water is.”

Corvo peered at the murky water. “Probably full of hagfish anyway,” he sniffed.

“Don’t tell me, they want to kill me too,” Garrett surmised, causing Corvo to laugh – a laugh that turned into a cough.

“You’re learning fast,” the man said, as Garrett leaned over the catwalk and grabbed the rope.

Climbing down was far easier than climbing up, aside from the fact he had to make a somewhat precarious jump onto the wall. He almost slipped off the other side upon landing, but a quick-timed grab with his hands saved him from ending up in the water.

Corvo, he grudgingly admitted, handled the rope better. He was probably aided by the fact he could swim, so he had no need to actively avoid landing in the water.

The wall as the same as before: several feet of slime-encrusted stone that they had to be careful to step across. At least Garrett didn’t slip this time. He didn’t think his leg would hold up so well a second time.

Making their way to the bridge was simple, and they were soon stood in front of the door that would take them further into the district proper; closer to Daud.

“Don’t open it,” Garrett said, suddenly remembering the dead Overseer’s note. “The Whalers watch the door.”

Corvo was looking back at the corpses of the Overseers that littered the bridge, mouth twisting into an unhappy expression. Even though the men had caused them both significant trouble, Garrett could tell Corvo was unsettled by their deaths.

“Apparently they weren’t all killed,” he said. “Daud let some of them go.”

“Why?” Corvo asked. Garrett shrugged in response.

“A warning, maybe?” he asked. “I’ll admit, an assassin choosing _not_ to kill is... unusual. But then again, it’s also a sign of mercy – one that may not be extended if the Overseers decide to return.”

“How do you know they watch the door?” Corvo asked, after a moment’s silence.

“One of the Overseers left a note,” Garrett replied. “There are more that way-“ he pointed in the direction of the Refinery. “-and we’ll probably find more when we get closer.”

“Noted,” Corvo replied, pulling his mask onto his face. Once more, Garrett gazed at the sightless golden eyes and yawning chasm that was the mouth. Piero had truly created a masterwork – the golden wire that resembled threads holding the piece together had caught Garrett’s eye from the moment he’d first seen Corvo. On more than one occasion he’d considered asking Corvo for the mask when this whole endeavour was over. To _ask_ for it, though, was not entirely his way. Then again, Corvo probably wouldn’t mind if Garrett took the item – the man was unlikely to need it again.

If they got through this, that was.

Garrett pulled his scarf up over his features again, and the pair climbed onto the semi-destroyed roof of the walkway and moved onto the low rooftop, avoiding the door.

Almost immediately, they had to stop.

There were three Whalers patrolling the area in front of them. Well, two, but then, somewhat ostentatiously, another Whaler had decided to descend to a lower rooftop by a _backflip._ Garrett raised an eyebrow. The impact should have at least sprained something, if not broken a bone, but the Whaler stood and walked to the edge of the rooftop like he’d simply hopped off a step. Garrett, meanwhile, still had a painful twinge in his thigh every time he moved. He scowled at the Whaler, who was now crouched on the edge of the rooftop, scanning the area below.

Next to him, Corvo was silent. After a long moment, Garrett realised that the man was waiting for _his_ assessment. He supposed he _was_ the expert here, after all.

He turned his attention back to the Whalers. They were following a somewhat routine patrol route, albeit on rooftops and interspersed with supernaturally-enhanced transversals to other rooftops. They _were,_ however, still somewhat predictable, but not ideal. A bright light set into the middle of the courtyard cast the entire doorway of the Rail Station – their destination – in a white light that wouldn’t hide anyone well, especially not a man of Corvo’s stature. _Or_ appearance.

“It’s not promising,” he said eventually. “They’re assassins. They’re trained to use the routes a guard wouldn’t look for, which then means they know _where_ to look for incoming threats. And plus, there’s _you,”_ he turned to face Corvo, properly.

“How are you feeling?” he asked. Even behind the mask, Garrett saw Corvo start at his question.

“Fine,” was the short, clipped reply.

“You’re a worse liar than the guards I’ve heard tell their superiors they weren’t asleep when something went missing,” Garrett told him. “A few hours ago, you were poisoned. No, it’s never happened to me, but I’ve seen it happen to enough people to have a pretty good guess.”

“What’s your point?” Corvo asked him. “You think I shouldn’t go in there? Five minutes ago you said you _expected_ us to go there.”

“No,” Garrett said. “I don’t think we should go in together. You-“ he cut himself off. “You’re still weak, even if you don’t show it. I can _see_ it. If the Whalers catch you, they’ll cut you down in a second. You’re having trouble standing up straight, let alone sneaking your way through the most dangerous part of this city.”

“Garrett-“ Corvo began, something softer in his tone, but the thief waved a hand, cutting him off.

“Listen,” he began. “I have a plan. Something that might work and give you enough time to get to Daud. It’s a long shot, but right now it’s probably the only thing that will work.”

He reached behind him, pulling his bow and quiver off his back, before loosening the straps of his cloak.

“Give me your mask,” he said. “And your coat.”

He pulled his cloak off, over his head, instantly feeling somewhat _less_ without it. He couldn’t afford sentimentality, though, not here.

“If this plan is what I think it is,” Corvo said, removing his mask and coat, casting a glance at the still-patrolling Whalers. “Your cloak isn’t going to fit. _Or_ disguise me.”

“No,” Garrett agreed, rolling up the cloak. “Which is why you’re going back to your cell and stripping one of those Whalers. You’re going to put on one of their masks and coats, and then make your way through the district as one of them. You’re powered like them, they’re unlikely to pay you a second glance, as long as you’re careful and note their movements enough.”

He pulled the coat over his shoulders, getting used to the weight. He had to roll up the sleeves – they were almost double the size of his arms.

“Me? I don’t have anything like you have. Just vision, which is helpful, but not _useful._ Not in a place like this. Together, we’re more noticeable, easy to spot. But on our own? We have a good chance, especially if one of us is able to blend in with the enemy. I can move without being seen – you know I can, but if something goes wrong, it’ll be better for them to think they’ve simply caught a prisoner than someone else, if only for a short while. You’ll get your chance with Daud, and I’ll find us a way out of this place.”

His cloak, he was going to have to leave behind. It pained him somewhat – it hadn’t been an easy thing to create; hours of locating the right fabric, and then _sewing_ the damned thing. But he couldn’t bring it with him, and neither could Corvo, not if their disguises were going to work.

“Take this back to the cells, too,” he said, handing the bundled roll of fabric to Corvo. “Hide it in the cell with the dead Overseer. They’ll be less likely to find it there. One of our only advantages at the moment is that they’ll be looking for you. Well – me.”

He pulled his scarf down, leaving it coiled around his neck, before picking up the mask and putting it on. It fit reasonably well, although Garrett immediately disliked the restrictions to his smell and peripheral vision. The optical sight was handy, though, he admitted inwardly.

“How do I look?” he asked Corvo, who’s expression looked _far too amused_ than was necessary for the situation.

“Like the Masked Felon himself,” Corvo said, his tone suggesting otherwise. His face went serious for a moment. “At a distance, you’ll be fine. Closer, maybe not. Try not to pick anyone’s pocket.”

“Trust me, I wasn’t considering it,” Garrett replied.

Now he was wearing the outfit, his plan seemed even more ridiculous. Maybe he should have spent some more time trying to think of something better.

“We make it to Daud,” he said, almost as a reassurance of himself. “You do whatever it is you’re going to do. I’ll find out how he gets out of the district. I’ll find you when I locate it,” he added.

“How are you going to do that?” Corvo asked him. Garrett smirked, tapping the right side of the mask, just below the eye socket.

“I’ll see you. This Eye is actually somewhat useful in certain circumstances.”

Garrett wasn’t sure if he could explain it, how he could tell the difference between the people he looked at with his Eye. Each of the Whalers he’d passed had been separate, _distinct,_ even if outwardly they’d looked the same. He was confident he’d be able to spot Corvo.

 _Corvo isn’t so certain,_ Erin whispered. _About this, or your plan. Neither am I. Neither are you._

“Trust me, Corvo,” Garrett said, echoing the words the man had said to him upon their first meeting, in Holger Square. “We’ll get through this. We’ll have to, to get back to Emily, right?”

Upon his mentioning of the soon-to-be Empress, Corvo straightened a little, mouth settling in a hard line. He nodded.

“I’ll see you on the other side,” he said, turning back towards the bridge, and the building beyond it. After a second, he vanished, leaving nothing but a faint warping of the air in his wake.

“I’m glad one of us is now more confident,” Garrett muttered, strapping his bow to his back. It was incongruous, with the coat, but he would just have to hope the Whalers wouldn’t pay it much attention if he were spotted. He couldn’t leave it behind, it had been even more painstaking to make than the cloak.

He moved to the edge of the rooftop once more, crouching behind a ventilation duct so he could survey the area once more. His most immediate problem was the Whaler who’d backflipped onto the rooftop: he was constantly flitting between two rooftops in his patrol. If Garrett happened to be on the rooftop the Whaler transported himself too, it likely wouldn’t spell good news for him.

He spent a minute watching the Whaler, working out his pattern, before he dropped onto a lower section of ventilation duct. Hugging the wall, he slowly made his way left, acutely aware of another Whaler on the courtyard floor, and a third that was changing between another two rooftops.

When he reached the corner, he stopped, before looking up. There was a catwalk with an open doorway above him – a quick check with the Eye revealed nobody in the building, living or dead. The only problem he had now was getting into the building without attracting any nearby assassins. Using a rope arrow or the claw was out of the question; both would make a noise and likely attract the Whaler who was currently patrolling below him.

Instead, Garrett opted to use the wall on his immediate left, scrambling upwards and then leaping back – catching the catwalk as he twisted in the air. It wasn’t perfect, and the angle jarred his wrist slightly, but it was _quiet;_ exactly what Garrett needed. Using only his arms, he heaved himself upward and onto the catwalk, ghosting into the building before the Whaler made his return trip.

Inside, the room was empty. A door on the far side had been bricked up, most likely as a former preventative measure for plague. Interestingly, beside the bricked-up door there was a line of hooks – a key dangled from one of them, dull brass gleaming in the pale light. He reached out, touching the cold metal for a moment.

_“He can’t get through the rail station without a key.”_

That was what one of the Whalers had said, at the refinery. Glancing out of the window, Garrett saw the sign proclaiming the doorway the Whalers were guarding to lead to the Central Rudshore rail station.

Well, that made his life simpler. The door was bathed in bright white light. Picking it unnoticed would have been a challenge, at best, and considering the way Garrett’s week had been going, it probably wasn’t going to be an ‘at best’ type situation.

He crossed to the window, crouching and peering out at the Whaler who was patrolling between two rooftops on the left side of the courtyard. Thankfully, the ventilation ducts snaked their way around to the left of the building. Garrett moved quickly, clambering down and moving so he was behind the Whaler. He was actually surprised it had been this easy – they were _assassins,_ after all.

They were complacent, Garrett had noticed. Too secure in their environment, riding the high of their repelling of the Overseer attack, most likely. He wasn’t going to complain. It made his job easier.

He couldn’t reach the rooftop nearest to the door – not without attracting attention, anyway. Instead, Garrett opted to hook the Claw into the vent grating, and abseil down the side of the building into a small alleyway, coming to land silently behind the Whaler who patrolled the ground area. He waited, holding his breath, until the man moved away, before unhooking the Claw and crossing to a covered area that was submerged in water. Thankfully, it was only ankle deep, and Garrett managed to navigate it so that he was beside the door. Using the key he’d previously retrieved, he slipped through the doorway, leaving it unlocked so Corvo could get through. He doubted the Whalers would check.

The door opened into a building that had once probably been bustling with hundreds of people who’d travelled by rail. Now, it was desolate, empty, and full of rats. Garrett climbed a set of stairs, and found that the left side of the building opened out onto a wide open space that looked as though it had once been a street, if not for the water that was now several feet deep at the bottom. Garrett wrinkled his nose as the putrid scent of the water hit him. Apparently Corvo’s mask didn’t filter out all _that_ much.

In the distance, Garrett picked out what had probably once been the focal point of the district in its heyday – a towering white statue of a woman. He was under no illusion that it was likely Jessamine, the former Empress. She looked nice, he supposed, although he didn’t know how accurate the depiction was.

 _Her father had golden hair. Her mother hair like ash,_ Erin supplied.

“Not very useful when looking at a marble statue,” Garrett muttered.

A ramshackle path made of rotting wood and metal stretched out before him, leading directly to the base of the statue, where Garrett could see further wood and metal reaching high above. He also saw what appeared to be several potential lookout points, but at this distance he couldn’t identify any Whalers.

The path was obviously a trap, bait to the unwary wanderer who somehow made it this far into the district. Garrett wondered if the Overseers had taken this path, thinking victory to be close at hand.

Garrett, instead, made his way right, leaping the short distance from the path to the adjacent roof, before climbing onto the ventilation duct on top. The duct led around a corner to an alcove, but it didn’t provide Garrett with an alternate route. What it _did_ give him was a vantage point to scout the location ahead of him in relative safely.

It took him a moment to figure out the optical sight on Corvo’s mask, but once he did, he scanned the area. He saw three, maybe four Whalers. It didn’t look good. One was crouched at the end of a ramshackle path, scanning the area below him. As soon as Garrett stepped into the light, he would be spotted. That wasn’t even accounting for the Whalers he _couldn’t_ see – this close to Daud’s base, there were bound to be more. Plus, some of them were bound to be moving between locations in their patrol. Garrett didn’t have the best vantage point; this time he couldn’t accurately map their paths.

The building with the statue of the Empress had an open window, he saw. Considering the amount of Whalers, and their position, it was highly likely that was the entrance to Daud’s base, and probably lead to the only way _out_ of the district. Garrett hadn’t seen any other routes, and couldn’t see any now.

They were watching the high areas, he noticed. The high areas and the obvious paths. Paths that an untrained or simply stupid person would take. Garrett, however, prided himself on being the kind of person who could spot the unobvious path.

The only problem was that _here_ it was also one of the most reckless paths. The Whalers were watching the high paths. But, on the left, behind the pathway, Garrett could see a set of stone stairs rising out of the water. They led into what looked like a secluded alley, one that wasn’t patrolled. The only issue was _getting_ there.

 _You should have learned to swim,_ Erin whispered in his ear, causing him to start slightly, concentration lapsing for a moment.

“You’re not helping,” he replied, unfolding his bow and picking out a rope arrow. He took careful aim, wary of the patrolling Whalers, before loosing an arrow that connected to one of the support beams under the makeshift gangway. It unspooled, leaving the rope dangling somewhat precariously over the water.

This was probably the worst idea Garrett had had in a long while. Worse than breaking into a burning Keep via an overheating steam vent to rescue Basso.

He backtracked slightly, moving back onto the catwalk, careful to not attract the attention of the Whaler still watching.

He could see no other way forward. Not without attracting _some_ form of attention. And while he was dressed as Corvo, he was going to draw more attention. He didn’t have his cloak to hide his form and the Whalers would likely be on the lookout for an escaping prisoner. Especially one who’d escaped a high-security prison, like Corvo had. Garrett hadn’t been to Coldridge, but the way Corvo’s escape had been spoken of, it was clear he’d been the first to do so.

Well, this was one more thing that could be added to Corvo’s list of daring endeavours. Especially if it failed, Garrett decided.

He took a deep breath, steeling himself, before bolting down the gangway, careful to keep his tread light as he did so. If he were going to be spotted, let it be for an instant, a trick of the light in the corner of an assassin’s eye.

When Garrett reached the end of the shadows, he leapt, sailing through the air to catch the rope underneath the gangway. He managed to snag it with relative ease; his momentum then carried him forward, and he leapt off, onto the stairway. He kept moving, not stopping until he was in the shadows of the alleyway.

He turned his head, quickly looking up at the patrolling Whalers. As far as he could tell, none of them had spotted his daring leap. The rope arrow wouldn’t go unnoticed for long, however.

Still, for the moment, he was safe.

He barely made it a metre into the alley before a Whaler materialised in front of him.

_Oh fu-_

The Whaler was facing him; both he and Garrett stared at each other for a moment in sheer dumb surprise, before Garrett bolted into action. Drawing his blackjack, he launched himself at the assassin, who was still apparently processing Garrett being in the previously empty alley. The weapon crashed down onto the Whaler’s head, causing him to stumble backward. Garrett brought the blackjack around again, hitting the Whaler a second time for good measure.

He bolted, knowing that the more time he spent here, the more likely he would be caught. Racing up the alley steps, he searched around for a place to hide, only to find an overturned trash bin. Next to the bin was a pair of very angry and vicious-looking hounds. They’d clearly been alerted by the commotion in the alley.

“ _Seriously?”_ He hissed to himself, dodging aside as one of the hounds leapt for him, the second unleashing a very loud bark. Garrett looked for _any_ way out, finding a ledge to his immediate right. He scrambled up, into a crumbling building, finding himself on the other side of the catwalk the stationary Whaler had been positioned on. He wasn’t there now – a quick check with the Eye revealed him to be in the alleyway with his fallen friend.

The catwalks were empty.

Garrett knew he wouldn’t get another chance, so he ran, sprinting onto the catwalk and heading for the open window he knew lead into Daud’s base. He briefly wondered if Corvo was getting along better than him.

The crossbow bolt that hit his left leg didn’t register for a moment; not until Garrett went to take another step and found a searing pain rising from his calf, one that made him drop to his knees. He immediately scrambled to the side, teeth grit in an attempt to keep the pain down, but he didn’t stop moving. If he stayed on the open space of the catwalks, he was going to get caught or killed. Neither looked appealing.

He forced himself upright again, limping, but still moving quickly. As he moved, he tried to search for the source of the bolt, but the mask was impeding his vision. He moved right, towards the end of the catwalk, some sort of half-baked plan forming in his mind; _get out of sight, get to safety, get back to Corvo._

He should have expected the Whaler to appear in front of him, blocking his path. The man had a sword raised, and Garrett twisted to the side, attempting to avoid the blade while keeping his forward momentum going, hoping to push the Whaler off the ledge. The movement jarred his leg further, and he suppressed a shout of pain as the crossbow bolt embedded in his calf tore at his flesh some more. He stumbled, and instead of twisting fully away from the blade, he fell into it, sword piercing the flesh of his left shoulder.

He thankfully fell onto his right side, attempted to roll away, but found that the catwalk ended _very_ suddenly.

The next thing Garrett saw was the Whaler’s mask peering over the side of the catwalk as he fell, plunging into the fetid depths of the floodwater.

It filled the mask, overpowered his senses, and Garrett flailed, the weight of Corvo’s coat pulling him under. He tried to call out, instead inhaled water, and choked as his vision swam and hearing clouded over.

He did hear one thing, though. A voice, ringing out in his mind:

_These waters are greedy. They will never give back what they have taken._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> >has six months between chapter updates  
> >leaves chapter on worse cliffhanger than the previous one
> 
> This chapter was an exercise on how to get through the Flooded District without powers. Essentially, once you get to Central Rudshore, you can't do it without being spotted.  
> Or without being able to swim. Poor Garrett. It really wasn't his day.
> 
> I hope Garrett's route wasn't too confusing. Send me a message if you need clarification, or post here or something. If a lot of you are confused I'll work out an explanatory post on tumblr, perhaps.
> 
> Still, it was fun to write from his point of view this time around. I hope you all liked the change as much as I did. I had the most fun writing his interactions with Erin/The Eye.
> 
> And, seriously, Garrett in Corvo's clothes? It's gotta be like a kid who dresses in their parents', right?


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What was it Corvo called you?” Garrett asked. “The ‘Knife of Dunwall’. Except a knife doesn’t carry a conscience. A blade doesn’t feel guilt. Your guilt – a guilt that you shouldn’t feel – is proving to be your undoing.”  
> He shifted in his bonds slightly.  
> “People like us don’t get to retire,” he continued. “We’re either caught, or killed, or both. What’s happening now? You would call it punishment – if this world punished the wicked. No, in this world, in all worlds, you take what comes, and the rest is void.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOO BOY
> 
> So, in all honesty, I expected this chapter to be released earlier, but a couple of things happened.  
> 1) I went to Cornwall on holiday for a week (it was p rad), and had no laptop or internet. That being said, I wrote parts on paper! The entire segment after they get into the sewer, to face Granny Rags? Originally written on paper.  
> 2) I got a new laptop, and as I booted up my old one to transfer files over, the old one crashed. HARD. It wasn't booting at all. Aaaand my backups were like, a week (or 3000ish words) behind. THANKFULLY, I managed to recover the document, and here we are, with an update that I think is my longest chapter yet!  
> (bonus fact, this fic is now longer than the first harry potter, the second, and the hobbit.)
> 
> Did you all see Taffer's art for the last chapter - go check it out [here!](http://bit.ly/1ILFbwc) It was glorious, I thought. You should all send them some love, they're the one person I bother the most with questions about things I'm writing for this story, and honestly I wouldn't get anywhere without them.
> 
> I should say it here: tHIS CHAPTER CONTAINS SOME VAGUELY DARK MOMENTS IN TERMS OF WATER AND DROWNING. If you're not a fan of that, beware once they get into the sewer. uhh, I think that's the only warning you'll need. The rest is standard Dishonored/Thief fare, so.
> 
> Bet you all thought I'd change to Corvo's POV here, right?

The first thing he registered was the cold. It suffused with his limbs, making them sluggish and slow. Next, a dark shape, moving towards him. Straining his eyes through the murky water, Garrett tried to focus, tried to orient himself, hands scrambling for _anything_ to grab hold of.

_Can’t breathe can’t speak can’t swim can’t can’t-_

The object moving towards him suddenly came into sharp focus – a hand that grabbed his chest and hauled him upwards, out of the water.

He was dragged onto the catwalk by the Whaler, gasping and heaving for breath. The water was still in the mask, filling the eyeholes and constricting his breathing; he practically ripped it from his face as he retched and heaved and spat out what felt like the entire river. His lungs burned and ached, grating further with each rasping breath he took.

For several minutes he just _breathed,_ taking in what air he could, attempting to calm his fraying psyche and get his head straight. His right hand came up over his left shoulder, finding the wound and clamping down, as he shook and shivered, trying to expel the memory of the water around him, of the sheer _helplessness_ he’d felt as he was dragged under.

_What kind of man treads the places he fears the most, for a quest that is not his own?_ Erin’s voice asked him. _You would never have done this before._

He was aware of figures stood around him – three Whalers with weapons drawn. He dimly registered them speaking, voices muffled by the masks, but he couldn’t make out the words.

Slowly, shaking, his right hand found the mask he’d tossed aside. His left was all-but useless right now, torn flesh and muscle was all that remained of the top of his shoulder. The blood was quickly washing away the water. Garrett clenched his teeth, pulling the mask back onto his face. The hood of Corvo’s coat was overlarge; it had shrouded his face while he’d recovered from his plunge into the water. And now he was out of immediate danger – although he certainly wasn’t going anywhere of his own free will – Garrett’s mind was focused on his original plan. He needed to give Corvo time.

Frankly, he was just looking on something _else_ to focus on, instead of the searing pain in his shoulder and leg. Giving Corvo time was attainable, still. He couldn’t run, couldn’t fight, couldn’t _steal._ This was probably his only option for getting out alive. They’d spared Corvo. They would likely spare him if they thought they could make money from it.

A hand gripped his (thankfully, right) shoulder, a sword pressed into the back of his neck, at the top of his spine. They didn’t need to speak for Garrett to understand their intentions; he held still as he was relieved of his weaponry: bow, quiver, blackjack, even the Claw, which caused the Whalers some confusion as they worked out how it was secured to his hip. Eventually, they cut their losses, and severed the rope strung across his stomach, letting the long strand fall into the water. Following this, the knife secured by his ankle was removed, although Garrett wouldn’t have been proficient enough in its use to fend off one Whaler, let alone three.

_“We should take him to Daud,”_ one of the Whalers was saying, voice permeating through the pounding in his head. _“His wounds will need binding.”_

_“That’s for Jenkins to do,”_ another replied. “ _I’ll find him.”_

The Whaler behind him pressed his sword into Garrett’s neck again, before gripping his shoulder tightly.

Garrett was used to travelling via Corvo’s method of transportation. _This_ way, however, felt different, somehow. With Corvo, it had been instantaneous – he’d _felt_ the sensation of moving. This time, in the split second between places, there was _nothing._ No light, air, time, space, _anything._

They reappeared in a room that Garrett had not seen before. He had a split second to register it – bookshelves and tall windows looking out onto the district – before the nature of their transversal dropped Garrett onto his left leg. He quickly stifled a shout of pain as it crumpled beneath him. His vision went white, and he drew in several hissed breaths through his teeth, eyes closing for a moment. He resisted the urge to curl in on himself, to show weakness in the face of this new threat. Instead he knelt, leaning on his right leg, and forced himself to remain as upright as possible in defiance, staring down his newest adversary.

Next to them, a second Whaler appeared, carrying Garrett’s weaponry. He set it on a table, behind which stood a man in a dark red coat.

Up close, Daud was- well, he was a man. As for what kind of man Daud was, Garrett had heard a lot from others. He knew what Corvo thought of him, and what most of the city thought of him. He’d tried to not let it skew his impression over the previous days. It was like he’d said to Corvo, before: Daud was like him, a professional. One with a reputation, which was generally only the product of a lot of work or a lot of gossip. But, up close, Garrett could see that Daud was worthy of the equal amounts of hate, fear, and the grudging, loathing respect that Corvo gave him. Something about him _reeked_ of danger.

To a normal person, they would never be able to place it, but the Outsider had made sure Garrett could see more than a normal person. And he saw that Corvo was not the only person around who’d been one of those marked with the Outsider’s brand. Daud wore gloves, but Garrett could still see the mark on his left hand, shining through the material with an ethereal blue hue. He’d not seen it before, at the Refinery – likely the distance between them at the refinery had stopped that. He doubted anyone else could see it anyway; it shimmered at the edge of perception, never there when directly looked at but always in Garrett’s view.

Dangerous as Daud looked, and indeed _was,_ Garrett still felt a surge of somewhat childish resentment for the man, for his followers who’d caused Garrett to be sitting on the floor instead of facing Daud on his own two feet. But still, here was a man who was worthy of respect.

_He reminds me of you,_ Erin whispered in his ear. _Standing defiant in front of the abyss, and as he plunges towards it, only reaching out at the last moment to try and save himself._

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” he snapped, too frayed to attempt to work out what she meant by that. He’d barely been able to work Erin’s words out on a _good_ day.

He suddenly realised he’d said his words out loud, to both the Whaler and Daud. Garrett quickly shut his mouth, but refused to look away, staring down Daud with the aid of the impassive features of the mask.

_“He must have escaped his cell. We cornered him outside,”_ the Whaler behind him said, after a moment’s silence. _“He took down Yuri – alive – but nobody else, as far as we know. Petro caught him in the leg, Geoff in the shoulder. He fell into the water.”_

Daud stepped forward, face impassive as he looked down at Garrett.

Garrett briefly wondered what he looked like to the man: bleeding and sodden and probably somewhere between dishevelled and ruinous. He’d been worse, he supposed.

_At least you’re awake for this one._

The silence stretched out before them, as Daud contemplated Garrett.

“You don’t need to draw it out any longer,” he said eventually, slowly reaching up and pulling the mask off. “You know I’m not Corvo.”

Daud’s mouth twitched into something of a smile, if only for a moment. “I wondered if you would try and keep the pretence up,” he said. His voice was harsh, grating, but Garrett found it a lot nicer to listen to than say, Havelock’s, or Pendleton’s. Maybe that was just his mistrust of the Loyalists showing. “You’re too short, your coat’s too large, and the Lord Protector never carried a bow,” Daud added. “How long were you expecting to fool my men and I?”

“Long enough,” Garrett replied, using his good hand to undo the buttons on the coat.

As Garrett slowly removed Corvo’s coat, dumping it into a sodden pile on the floor (carefully watched by the Whaler as he did so), Daud turned away, addressing another Whaler to his right. “Thomas. Take Ardan and Fisher. Go check on the cells we stashed Corvo in.”

The Whaler – Thomas – gave a short bow. “ _Sir,”_ he acknowledged, before flickering out of existence.

_“I’ve already sent for Jenkins,”_ the Whaler guarding Garrett said, and Daud turned back to them.

“Good. Those wounds will need binding. As will his hands. Keep him here. I’ll make sure he stays.”

Garrett huffed out a breath in annoyance, but didn’t say any more, as he was hauled backwards, so his back pressed against a pillar nearby. It dug uncomfortably into his shoulder, and he spat out a few quiet curses, mainly for his own stupidity in not waiting fully until the coast was clear.

“Careful where you’re prodding,” he muttered, as his arms were pinned to his sides, and a rope was wound around his chest and arms, securing him to the pillar. If he had the use of both his arms and legs, he could probably have gotten free, but right now he would probably do more damage to himself. The crossbow bolt was _still_ in his leg, he noticed absently.

“You can leave us,” Daud said to the Whaler who’d secured him; the assassin disappeared, leaving behind a faint warping of the air around him.

“So, you’re the famous Daud,” he began, to distract himself from the situation he was in. “How much coin are _you_ worth if they bring you in alive? More than me, I hope.”

Daud cast him a long look, not speaking for a moment. He then turned his attention to the arrayed items in front of him.

“I know little about the Lord Protector,” he said, inspecting Garrett’s weaponry. Garrett wondered where he was going with his point. “But _you,_ I know even less about. Rumours that you fell out of the sky, and that you’ve been in the Office of the High Overseer for a week. There are things I _do_ know for sure, though. You and the Masked Felon – Corvo – were seen dealing with the man known as Slackjaw. You caused _quite_ a disturbance at the house of Anton Sokolov, and then an even bigger one the next night, at the party held by Esma Boyle, where she went missing. Am I to assume that you were involved in the downfall of Hiram Burrows, too?”

Garrett shrugged. Or, he tried to, and managed some sort of twitch with his good shoulder.

“I might have helped,” he said, voice neutral. “Be careful with that,” he added, as Daud picked up his bow and carefully unfolded it.

Before Daud could reply, a new figure appeared beside them. Garrett took this to be Jenkins – he carried a bag filled with what looked like medical supplies.

“I’m not drinking any of that elixir,” he said to the new arrival. “I’ve had my fill of whale _._ Even the Trickster supposedly had better taste in drinks.”

_The Trickster served the finest wines and brandies,_ Erin whispered to him, _but no amount of grand hospitality could stop him from ending his life at the hands of the Sneak Thief._

“Bind his wounds,” Daud ordered, ignoring his complaints, “I don’t want him bleeding out before Corvo arrives. He could be useful leverage.”

“You think Corvo’s coming back?” Garrett asked, wincing as Jenkins prodded his shoulder, mask looming close to his face. “What makes you think he would spare the time for you or me?”

“Why else would _you_ be here?” Daud asked. “You were not poisoned and floated into the district like a piece of cargo. Neither would you have had a need to come in here, if not for the Lord Protector. No, I know Corvo’s coming back,” Daud said. “He still feels deeply about the Empress’ death, and my involvement in it.”

_So does Daud,_ Erin’s voice informed him. _A witch now resides in the Void because of it._

“A _what?”_ Garrett muttered aloud, causing Jenkins to pause in his ministrations. Garrett couldn’t see the assassin’s face, but he could tell the man was adding insanity to his mental list of Garrett’s ailments.

“You talk to yourself a lot for a man who’s dressed for a profession that would require quiet,” Daud commented.

“Helps me tell the difference between my own voice and the other one in my head,” Garrett replied shortly, as Jenkins attempted to move his leathers aside to access the wound better. After several seconds of pain and no apparent success, Jenkins gave up, wrapping the bandage tightly over his clothing instead. It wasn’t ideal, but it was sufficient enough to halt the worst of the bleeding. He then moved to Garrett’s leg, lifting it and snapping the bolt embedded there. Garrett flinched, the pain rocketing up his leg, biting down on his lip to stop himself from crying out as Jenkins applied another bandage.

_“He’ll live,”_ Jenkins eventually said, rising. “ _As long as he gets proper medical treatment in the long term. Bandages won’t keep him together forever.”_

The Whaler gave a short bow, and departed, leaving Garrett and Daud alone.

Now that he was out of immediate danger (and not focusing on the _literal assassin den_ he was in), Garrett closed his eyes, resting his head against the pillar. He’d not had a chance to rest since the night before the Boyle party – and he’d been sorting through Sokolov’s notes for most of the night. Sleep wasn’t exactly at the forefront of his mind, but now his body was at somewhat of a restful position, and he likely had time to wait, he found it hard to resist. Near death, he supposed tiredly, did that to you.

His dreams had been the same since that night at Northcrest Manor, over a year and a half ago now. Fractured images of what had happened, Erin’s voice calling his name, his own fear and confusion mixed in between. Now, they were interspersed with fragments of recent events: the water of the district, Slackjaw’s whiskey-hardened voice describing fate of the Pendletons, and the deep, aching chill of the Void. A laugh, bitter and hollow; a roaring sound that lingered at the edge of hearing; and the faint rattle of bones permeated through it all.

_Is this all for his amusement?_ Erin’s voice whispered, startling Garrett to wakefulness. _Does the Outsider pit you all against each other for entertainment?_ A laugh, and then, _He must get bored, in that place._

Garrett leaned back against the pillar again, breathing hard through gritted teeth. His sudden waking had caused him to jerk against his restraints, to want to flee, but the rope had held him steady, instead causing sharp pain to lance from his shoulder down through his body. He shifted slightly, as best he could with his constricted movement, vowing to not fall asleep again.

Garrett cast his eye around the room, scanning for exits and entrances, and patrolling Whalers. As far as he could tell, it had only been a short time since he’d closed his eyes. Daud hadn’t moved, and was reading a book, or journal of some sort, not paying attention to him. In all, he seemed fairly calm for a man who’d seemed sure of the fact someone was coming to kill him. Garrett supposed it was an occupational hazard of his kind.

He blinked a few times, activating the Eye, scanning _past_ the walls and floors. As far as he could tell, the building was heavily patrolled and not easy to navigate. A floor below him, a pair of assassins seemed to be training, if their movements were to be gauged accurately. One was attempting to sneak without the other noticing him. _Amateur._

 If Corvo was going to be undetected, he was going to have his work cut out, Garrett decided. The fact that Garrett hadn’t spotted him yet, even with his enhanced vision, was worrying, but he had faith.

Or, he told himself he did, as he cast his gaze onto Daud.

 “You’re different,” Daud said, suddenly. Garrett realised that the assassin had been watching him as he’d scanned the room; a curious frown now resided on his face. “Something about you-“

He cut himself off, snapping the book shut and stepping forward, closer to the thief. He crouched, grabbed Garrett’s chin and held him still, peering at Garrett’s face. The close attention was claustrophobic, oppressive, and he tried to pull away, but Daud held him steady, before eventually releasing him. Garrett snapped his head to the side, turning away from the man.

“I saw it. Your eye,” he began, stepping back, “it-“

“It is none of your concern,” Garrett ground out harshly, cutting him off, dreams and memories still fresh in his mind.

_Too much regret, too much pain,_ her voice whispered in his ear. _Is it yours, or mine?_

“I could make it my concern,” Daud said. “I could get Jenkins back in here to remove it.”

Garrett’s mouth twisted, as he deliberated his next words with care.

Nothing ventured, nothing gained, he supposed, turning back to stare Daud directly in the eye.

“If the Outsider didn’t deign to tell you about me- and- and _it,”_ he said slowly, “then I don’t see why I should explain it to you. If he didn’t feel like sharing who else he talks to, and the reasons, then why should I?”

The silence stretched out between them, as Garrett narrowed his eyes, resolutely staring Daud down.

“I’ve seen the Mark on Corvo’s hand,” Daud said, by way of response. “I’ve seen another, too, who bears gifts from him. But _you_ do not strike me as one who would gain the Outsider’s attention.”

Garrett snorted, looked away. “You’d be correct. He called me... _necessary,_ I think was the word. Not chosen or special, or even _entertaining,_ by his standards. I was a fluke, a mistake. But I was needed. I still am.”

“You’re not much use to him at the moment.”

“No,” Garrett agreed. “I was of use to Corvo, though. And soon enough I’ll probably be of use to the Outsider again. _You’ve_ not killed me yet, which means I’m of use to you.  I’m starting to wonder if you’ll even try to kill Corvo. You’re...” he cast another glance around the room, taking in the audiograph player, scattered sheets of paper, numerous posters that had been scrawled over, and signs of restless nights. “You’re _waiting_ for him. Every man that’s come in here, you’ve sent away, even though you _know_ Corvo is coming for you. The prison you put him in wasn’t secure. You-”

He cut himself off for a moment, frowning. “You’re waiting for your judge and jury to arrive. Your executioner? Maybe you hope he will be.”

_The Outsider sees everything. He sees a man, walking a tightrope over a sea of blood and filth. The Empress is dead, the water is rising, and Daud’s running out of rope._

“What will you do when the tightrope runs out?” Garrett said, voicing his thoughts and the words of Erin. “There are two ways in which you can fall, after all. Two ways in which Corvo could _let_ you fall.” Daud stiffened at his words, an almost imperceptible expression passing across his features. Recognition. He’d heard those words before, apparently.

Garrett huffed out a breath through his nose. “Not that it matters to me,” he said. “What I’m here for has nothing to do with this... squabble. These _politics,”_ he spat. “What the Outsider gave me – well, what was given to me, whether he liked it or not – is not part of what you’re expecting to happen here. Neither ending would surprise me.”

“I _am_ surprised you could see it, though,” he added, after a moment. “Corvo never seemed to notice when I... when I _looked,_ or what I saw.”

“What do you see?” Daud asked. “More than most, I imagine.”

Garrett turned his attention back to Daud, who was watching him with curiosity. It wasn’t like Corvo, who’d had almost everything about Garrett explained to him by the Outsider. To Daud, Garrett was an anomaly, even more so than Corvo, perhaps more than the Outsider himself.

Well, it wasn’t as if he had anything better to do. Maybe it was just the pain loosening his tongue.

He focused his attention to Daud, using the Eye to peel away the outer layers, to _see._

“One more job shouldn’t have mattered,” he said, speaking the words whispered to him. “You’d killed nobles before, under orders from _other_ nobles. Why was an Empress different, then?”

He paused, for a moment, listening further.

“You knew this one was different the moment you ended her life,” he said. “You knew you would pay, eventually.”

Before Daud could respond, a Whaler appeared between them. Garrett saw it was Thomas, Daud’s second in command.

_“Sir,”_ he began. _“The cell was empty. Dimitri was nearby, alive, but unconscious. Quinn was nowhere to be found. No sign of the Lord Protector. I’ve got the others combing the district for him now.”_

So Corvo had hidden the other Whaler’s body. Garrett had to give it to him, it was an ingenious solution, to stay hidden for longer.

“Keep looking,” Daud said. “Report to me with anything you find.”

_“Perhaps his friend knows something,”_ Thomas said.

“I might,” Garrett said, “but nothing you already wouldn’t know or guess.”

 “Leave him,” Daud said. “He’s right; he won’t have anything of use. Has Rinaldo reported in?” he asked, changing the subject.

_“A few minutes ago. He reports that Brigmore Manor has been cleared. Most of the coven has disappeared. One wishes to join our ranks. The rest tried to lead an assault against us in response to what you did to Delilah. They were unsuccessful.”_

Daud looked pensive for a moment. “The one who wants to join. Do you think she has another motive for doing so?”

_“I could not say,”_ Thomas replied. _“She was not the one who we persuaded to tell you of Delilah’s plans for the Kaldwin girl, so I could not say she would be bought for coin easily. If you think we could have another situation like Lurk-“_

“No,” Daud cut in. “Keep her contained for now. If you think she can be trustworthy, start her training. She may prove useful in taking down any remaining members of the coven.”

_“I- yes,”_ Thomas replied.

“Right now, keep a lookout for Corvo,” Daud added. “Visit every patrol, check their numbers. He may be getting close.”

_“Sir,”_ Thomas acknowledged, before flickering out of existence again.

_He fears he will never fully replace the one who held his position before,_ Erin whispered. _Not in Daud’s heart, anyway._

Garrett closed his eyes again, as Daud turned back to the table he’d been leaning over before.

For a few minutes, nothing was said – Garrett supposed Daud was spending the time ruminating over his last few moments. Or, whatever it was a dying man was supposed to do.

“I used to be like you,” he said, suddenly, opening his eyes to seek out Daud. “I took a job that was meant to be like any other. What-“ he broke off, something akin to amusement rising inside of him. “What could go wrong? I was good at my job – _the best –_ and it was an easy steal.”

“What happened?” Daud asked, clearly unable to hide his curiosity. Garrett fixed him with an unsympathetic look.

“I lost a year of my life and the right side of my face no longer matches the left.”

Above them, he felt the air shudder, as a Whaler appeared – Garrett craned his head to look at the new arrival, before he was joined by another. He closed his eyes again as the first Whaler started to speak; his headache started to return with full force.

_“Sir,”_ the Whaler began, _“Thomas sent us back. Killian failed to report in.”_

_“Neither Pavel nor Finn have reported back within the last half hour,”_ the second Whaler said. Interestingly, this Whaler was a woman, Garrett noted. _“We did not realise until Thomas ordered us to gather. I think he is sending everyone back now.”_

Daud, for his part, made no comment – if he acknowledged them some other way, Garrett didn’t see. He could feel, hear, and even _taste_ the moment a new Whaler arrived, the sharp tang of warped air settling in the back of his throat. More Whalers appeared – Garrett wondered if this was their protocol after some sort of security breach, to rally around their leader. Granted, after the recent Overseer attack, Garrett reasoned they would probably ignore any other protocol and simply fulfil the need to protect their leader.

_“Master,”_ the newest arrival said – Thomas. Garrett cracked his eyes open as the Whaler walked across the room to Daud. _“A third of the scouts are missing. Corvo is nowhere to be seen. The men swear they’ve seen nothing, other than this imposter you have here now. The Greaves Refinery has been started, too-“_

“That was me,” Garrett cut in, “needed a way to get the stairs working.”

_“Be that as it may,”_ Thomas continued, turning to Garrett for a moment, _“You were captured before the sentries started to go missing.”_ He turned back to Daud. _“All that’s gathered here is all that I could find out of those we did not send to Brigmore. We don’t know where Corvo is or what he’s planning.”_

“Seems like Corvo knows your job better than you do,” Daud said, after a moment. “Sentries-“ he called, addressing those gathered around. “Return to your posts. Keep on guard, and wait for either myself or Thomas to address you.”

_“Sir, do you not think it would be wiser to-“_ Thomas began.

“Return to your posts,” Daud interrupted. “I’ll deal with Corvo myself, as I should have done at the Tower.”

It was interesting, Garrett noticed, to see the change coming over Daud. The man _knew_ his end was coming, knew _Corvo_ was coming, yet he still tried to keep up a facade for his men. The impassive assassin, who took everything the world threw at him and _withstood it._

Slowly, one by one, the sentries flickered out of existence again.

_“This is a mistake,”_ Thomas said. _“Corvo’s beating us at what we do best. He could kill us all. You said this couldn’t happen.”_

“If Daud reminds you of me,” Garrett muttered to Erin, “then Thomas reminds me of you.”

A soft laugh in his ear. _Perhaps. He certainly has the spirit._

“I didn’t think it could,” Daud was saying. Garrett could tell the man was speaking honestly, for once. “I always thought one of you, the strongest of you, would kill me in the end. But not a stranger, not one untrained in our methods. But perhaps _he_ will.”

“What was it Corvo called you?” Garrett asked, speaking to the air, causing the conversation to halt. “The ‘Knife of Dunwall’. Except a knife doesn’t carry a conscience. A blade doesn’t feel _guilt._ You asked me what I saw. When I look at you, I see a man preparing for his death, either at your second’s hand, or Corvo’s. Your _guilt –_ a guilt that you shouldn’t feel – is proving to be your undoing.”

He opened his eyes again, shifted in his bonds, and noticedthere was still an assassin waiting on the upper level, watching.

“People like us don’t get to retire,” he continued. “We’re either caught, or killed, or both. What’s happening now? You would call it punishment – if this world punished the wicked. No, in _this_ world, in _all worlds,_ you take what comes, and the rest is void.”

“Perhaps,” Daud said, before he too cast his gaze upwards. “Why don’t you ask Corvo _his_ opinion on my punishment?”

The Whaler that remained on the upper level immediately drew his sword – a sword, Garrett noticed, that unfolded from the handle. Garrett snuffed a laugh, wincing as it pulled on his shoulder, before focusing the Eye on the not-Whaler. It _was_ Corvo, he saw. He supposed he should have noticed earlier.

Thomas, in turn, drew his sword, but was held at bay by Daud.

“You can check on your friend, if you wish,” Daud said to Corvo, who was warily watching them. “He managed to get himself into quite a bit of trouble with my men.”

Corvo didn’t speak, instead he disappeared, air flickering around him in ethereal blue for a moment. It was different to the Whalers, Garrett saw. He wondered if that was how Daud had spotted him.

Corvo reappeared at his side, still facing Daud, sword out. Garrett could see his uncertainty, uncertainty at Daud’s calm and almost _pleasant_ demeanour. But also, within the shifting sea of emotions Garrett could see, there was _hate._ Hate for the man who – for all intents and purposes – had been the instrument in Corvo’s destruction and incarceration.Garrett wondered if it had been similar to the time he’d faced Baron Northcrest, when he’d been trying to work out what had become of Erin, and all the signs had pointed to death.

The Whaler’s mask was removed, dropped to Corvo’s side, revealing his face. His expression was impassive, hard, as he held his sword steady, aimed at Daud and his second. His fingers flexed around the handle, getting a better grip.

“Put away your sword,” Daud said to Thomas. “He isn’t here for you.”

_“Sir, for the men-“_

“They’re alive, I suspect,” Daud cut in. “His sword is too clean to have spilled much blood.”

“Check the bottom of the refinery,” Corvo said, one side of his mouth twisting slightly. “You put my things there; I put yours there in return.”

“Go,” Daud said to Thomas. “Take Misha and Dodge. Return here when you’re done.”

Thomas didn’t speak, instead gave a quick nod of acknowledgement, before disappearing.

“Garrett?” Corvo asked, sparing him a sidelong glance.

Garrett, for his part, shrugged his good shoulder. “I’m fine,” he said. “You two carry on.”

He _definitely_ wasn’t going to get involved in this. He’d done enough of that over the past few days.

“Your friend here has been very enlightening,” Daud said, “but even he knows he cannot affect this outcome.”

He drew his sword, raising it into a defensive pose.

“No sense in wasting words,” he said. “Now we fight the duel that no two others could fight, against the ticking of the clock. Let us see whose life the Outsider will save – yours, or mine.”

He raised his left hand, the brand on it glowing brightly for a moment, and then he _pulled._

Garrett had grown to recognise when Corvo played with time. While not directly affected, he could still see its influence. A ripple, a _shudder,_ travelled outwards from the pair, staining the world in monochromatic greys and blacks – if only for a moment. Amidst the wave, he saw a blur of movement and colour – red from Daud’s coat, dark blue from Corvo’s, and the glint of their swords as they clashed. Most of all, however, he saw their brands, their Marks, glowing brightly against the haze that surrounded them.

The ripple halted, the men parted for a moment, looking suddenly more tired than they had a moment ago. Corvo was breathing harshly, as was Daud, who raised his sword again.

“Why are you fighting?” Daud spat. “For the men who poisoned you and left you to die? For your dead Empress? Strike as if you mean it, Corvo, you _know_ I killed her.”

This time, it was Corvo who pulled, the ripple of halted time once more spreading out from the pair. Garrett was no expert swordsman, not even an expert fighter, but he could spot a goad when he heard one. The question was: was Daud goading Corvo to cause him to make a mistake, or simply fight harder?

In any case, the blows became faster, harder to detect amid the blur. Garrett picked out more red, blood, arcing out between them, and then-

Corvo struck a blow onto Daud’s side as the world righted itself again, and the man stumbled, roaring in pain. He stumbled, caught himself against the desk, and disappeared.

Corvo was still, breathing hard, teeth grit.

_Is he supposed to forgive him for what he’s done?_ Erin whispered.

“Where is he?” Corvo asked, slowly sidestepping towards Garrett, sword still drawn.

“Outside,” Garrett said, spotting the man through the wall, sitting against something, holding onto his side. “It’s over,” he added. “He’s not going to run.”

Corvo’s sword made short work of his bonds, and he held out his arm to help Garrett up. Slowly, he managed it, keeping most of his weight on his right leg as he moved slowly towards the table with his weaponry on it.

“What took you so long?” he asked, as he strapped his bow and quiver to his back.

“Had to make sure the Whalers weren’t going to cause you any more trouble. Nice dive, by the way.”

Garrett huffed out a breath. “I’m so _very glad_ you got to see it.”

He placed the blackjack back into its holster, and turned, slowly moving back towards Corvo, who had taken the time to replace the industrial coat with his old coat and mask, that Garrett had left in a pile on the floor.

“That’s going to make travel slow,” Corvo said, nodding to his leg.

“I’ll be fine for the moment,” Garrett told him, before turning to the open doorway. “He’s out there, still. Waiting for you.”

Daud was leaning against an old stone wall, blood spilling between the fingers that were clamped over the wound on his side. As Corvo and Garrett approached, he heaved himself upright, to kneel. Garrett was reminded of when they had first met, a short time ago, when Garrett had been the one kneeling.

“I have one more surprise for you,” Daud said. His tone was even, managing to mask the pain he clearly felt. “I ask for my life.”

Corvo, surprisingly, was silent, so Daud continued.

“When I killed your Empress and took her daughter, something broke inside me. Now I see the design on the back of your hand, the Mark of the Outsider himself, and I remember all I’ve done.”

The sound of warping air to Garrett’s right made him turn for a moment. Thomas had returned, it had seemed, and was now watching them.

“The years of waiting for the right moment to step forward from an alley and stick a knife between the ribs of some noble. All the money exchanging hands, from one rich bastard or another. Killing for one of them one year, then being paid to kill _him_ in return the next.”

“But what have I accomplished?” Daud asked. “More than you have, or much less? I remember bending at the shrines as the Outsider whispered that I was going to change things, that I was... somehow important.”

The man was silent for a moment, looking at the floor.

“It felt good,” he said eventually, “made me believe I was powerful.”

“Now I want nothing but to leave this city, and to fade from the memory of those who reside here. I’ve had enough killing.”

He looked up at Corvo, into the impassive mask that the man wore again, the visage of death itself. Staring his _own_ death in the face.

“The men you worked for asked you to kill for them, but you found some other way. You took a path I could have followed, but did not. So my life is in your hands. Make your choice.”

He fell silent, bowing his head, clearly ready to accept whatever punishment was given.

_You take what comes, and the rest is void,_ Erin repeated in Garrett’s ear.

Corvo, for his part, looked over to Garrett, to Thomas stood a short distance from them all, and then back to Daud.

The silence stretched out between them, Garrett could almost taste the tension in the air. Thomas shifted behind them, uneasy, but Corvo held still, hand once more flexing around the handle of the sword he held out before him.

And then, in a careful, practised movement, he folded the blade of his sword away. As if to back up his point, he stepped backwards, away from the fallen assassin.

“And you choose mercy,” Daud said, an almost questioning expression on his face. “Extraordinary. Unexpected.”

The last word was said with almost a sense of _wonder._ He, of all people, had been given another chance by the one man guaranteed to hate him the most.

Daud nodded his head, as if confirming to himself that this was indeed his fate.

“Thomas,” he said, raising his voice a little. “Show Corvo and his friend the way out. Lead the rest of the men well. And-“ he looked over to his second. “Never accept a contract on the life of an Empress.”

With his final, parting words, he disappeared. Garrett didn’t see where. He didn’t want to see, at any rate.

Thomas led them to a room underneath the main floor of Daud’s base. The assassin was silent, following the last order given by his former master to the letter.

Pipes surrounded them, crumbling stone and rotting wood loomed above them, but underneath it all was a gate, leading to a sewer outflow tunnel. Thomas unlocked it, pushing the metal door open and stepping aside. A water-filled tunnel stretched before them, the light casting patterns on the curved stone walls around them.

Thomas said nothing, merely inclined his head as Corvo passed. Garrett followed, before pausing for a moment.

“Thomas,” he called back. He wasn’t really sure why he was saying this, but the silence (something he was usually content with) was disquieting, needing to be broken.

“Don’t spend your time wondering if you’ll ever live up to the names of those before you. Carve out your own piece of the world, and be content with it. Your name is only a name, after all. Your deeds, well – you’ll remember those, even if the rest of the world won’t.”

_You never gave me any advice like that,_ Erin’s voice whispered, almost an affronted tone to her words.

_Would you have ever accepted it?_ he thought in return.

Thomas paused, turning back for a moment.

“Good luck,” he said eventually, before he too disappeared. No doubt to tell the rest of the Whalers what had just occurred.

“I like him,” Garrett said, partly to Corvo, partly to Erin. “Good eyes, sensible, followed orders well enough. He’ll likely do good here.”

_I think I can see why he reminded you of me,_ Erin said. _Careful to not get too wrapped up in nostalgia, Garrett. You recall how it all ended for us._

Garrett didn’t reply to that, instead he pulled his scarf back up over his face.

Corvo didn’t speak, instead turning and heading down into the tunnel. Garrett followed, content with the silence once more; a brief reprieve from the potentially life-changing events they’d just experienced.

The tunnel led to an open sewer – the rank, putrid smell assaulted Garrett’s nose before he saw it – and soon the pair were stood at the edge of the outflow. The mud here was thick, it came high up Corvo’s boots and almost completely over Garrett’s feet. He didn’t want to think about what _else_ was in the mud.

The sewer – or whatever this place was – looked as though it had originally been roofed, but years of disrepair had taken their toll. It had collapsed, at some point in the past, so now gnarled spikes of metal loomed out of the water, creating hidden dangers for those who stepped too near. High above them, metal catwalks stretched across the mire, clear but decidedly unsafe for someone wanting to pass through undetected.

High above that, Garrett could see the sky, almost tinged grey. It was evening, he saw. They likely had a long night ahead of them.

To the right, a quarantine wall loomed. Their route was obvious, for now.

“We’d be better wading through the water,” Garrett said. “Provided it doesn’t go to deep.”

He wasn’t inclined to take another swim, again. Not considering how well the last one had gone.

They followed the path to the left, thankfully the water only came up to his shins.

The collapsed and ruined metal formed into a tunnel-like structure at one point, which then led into another open area. Garrett heard the train before he saw it. It stopped before them on some kind of electrical rail, before tilting to the side. A shutter on the side opened, and it deposited its cargo into the floodwaters.

“They bring the bodies here,” Garrett said, echoing part of Erin’s earlier statement, watching the hastily-wrapped corpses fall, and the train depart for its next payload.

Erin was right too, the water _was_ cold. It was slowly seeping into his bones, chilling his feet and ankles, moving up his legs.

“Over there,” Corvo said, speaking for the first time since dealing with Daud. He indicated an open window, and placed his hand on Garrett’s shoulder, transporting them both inside.

He was more considerate than the Whaler, ensuring Garrett didn’t drop onto his left leg.

“Sit down,” he said, indicating a chair that was covered in a white sheet. “I want to check your wounds.”

“Don’t trust the Whaler’s medicine?” Garrett asked, lowering himself into the chair anyway. “All they did was bandage them. Said I would need to see a doctor, though.”

“If they’re still alive,” Corvo said, crouching to inspect the bandage wound around his leg.

“The Loyalists might be traitorous bastards,” Garrett began, “but they’re not stupid. They need Sokolov and Piero to help cure the plague. In the least, they need Sokolov to help legitimise their rule – come forward as rescuers of the missing Royal Physician stolen away by masked felons.”

Corvo was silent, nodding.

“Were the wounds cleaned?” he asked, prodding slightly at Garrett’s leg. He flinched slightly, but managed to hold still.

“Well, I took a dip into some water immediately after receiving them,” Garrett began. “Filthy, polluted water...” He trailed off.

_Ah._

“They had trouble getting to them, honestly,” Garrett continued. “The uh, particulars of my attire don’t really allow for fast _or_ easy removal.”

_I should probably look into that._

“This wound is deep,” Corvo said, indicating his shoulder. “It’s been bandaged well, but… We need to get you to a doctor sooner, rather than later,” he surmised. Garrett could tell he was worried, despite his efforts to keep his tone neutral. “If we can find them.”

Garrett reached into the pouch on the small of his back, pulling out the map Samuel had given him beforehand. He squinted at it for a moment, before passing it to Corvo, a laugh of sorts rising in his chest.

“Guess the waterproofing oil _did_ work,” he said. The map was clean, although slightly damp. It hadn’t smudged at all during its plunge into the waters of the Flooded District.

Corvo snuffed a laugh of his own, taking the map and heading over to the table by the open balcony. Garrett, after a moment, stood up, and followed. They both looked over the map, attempting to work out a route.

“I’m not one to usually point out the burrick in the room-“ he began, before Corvo cut him off.

“The _what?”_ he asked. Garrett sighed. Of course, this city had other menaces, like oysters that spewed poison at you, or men in stilted suits that fired incendiary arrows at you.

“Not the point,” he said eventually. “Daud.”

At mention of the assassin’s name, Corvo stilled, resting both hands on the table. He slowly turned to face Garrett.

“Honestly?” Garrett asked. “I expected him to die. _He_ expected to die, if you didn’t notice. What- what made you spare him?”

Corvo didn’t speak for a few seconds, and Garrett was content to wait. Eventually, the man reached up, pulling the mask off his face, allowing Garrett to see the raw wretched _misery_ embossed upon it.

“Did you see?” he began, haltingly, words failing him for a moment. He looked away, back towards the ruined district they had just left. “The building Daud had chosen to hide himself and his people in. What was stood behind him while he made his case?”

Garrett thought back to the district, to the white building, and-

“A statue of the Empress,” he realised.

“A statue of the Empress,” Corvo repeated. “I- I looked at _that,_ and I remembered all she championed. All she aspired to do, all she aspired for _Emily_ to do. What would I become, if I took Daud’s life? I’d be the man the Loyalists expected me to be: a man who could enact a brutal and terrible revenge on the city that wronged him.”

“Except, you would have been justified, here,” Garrett reasoned.

“Would I?” Corvo asked, turning to look back at Garrett again. “I still remember what you said to Emily, when she asked you if you could find Daud. _Killing him will not bring her back._ In killing Daud, how much of myself would I destroy? How much of Jessamine’s _memory_ would I destroy?”

He broke off, running a hand over his face. For a moment, the composed mask broke, his shoulders slumped, and he just looked _tired._ It was difficult to remember that Corvo had been imprisoned for six months. And then he’d been broken out and sent to work immediately.

He’d never fully hand a chance to grieve, Garrett realised slowly. Never gotten to go to her funeral, pay his respects, simply _stop_ and take account of the events that had befallen him.

Corvo turned away, facing the table again.

“I didn’t need a gift from the Outsider to see how much her death had affected Daud. Her death will stay with him until the end of his days. He’s punishing himself in greater amounts than I ever could.”

“And Emily?” Garrett asked, as Corvo replaced his mask.

“Emily will understand. When she’s older. If not, then I’ll have to live with _that,_ too.”

Garrett wasn’t a man prone to sympathetic outbursts. Still, he reached up, grasping onto Corvo’s shoulder for a moment. He could feel the minute tremors running through the man’s body, the barely held-back emotion that lay within.

He released the taller man, instead looking at the map before them, changing the subject.

“We’re not far from the Hound Pits,” he said. “At the moment, that might be our only viable option.”

Corvo nodded his agreement. “We’ll have to go that way,” he said, pointing to the railway line, where the train was returning with another batch of corpses. “It might be an idea to-“ he broke off, peering out of the balcony. “Did you hear that?” he asked.

Garrett frowned, before looking up and around them. He could hear it, faintly – the sound of a person coughing.

“Above us,” he said finally, spotting the source. “A woman. Probably been here a while, by the look of her.”

“Think she has information?”

“Everyone usually has some sort of information,” Garrett said. “But hers might be more useful than most, if she’s managed to survive here.”

The path to the woman’s hideaway took them between the ruined buildings, once likely filled with families full of life and vigour. Garrett wondered how many of them were now resting in the floodwaters outside, or in the darker places of the world.

The woman was ill – dying – and she stumbled backwards when Corvo and Garrett appeared in her window. A hacking cough rose on her lungs.

“Get back!” she managed. “What the hell are you?”

Garrett saw Corvo hold up his hands, indicating he was unarmed. He did the same; well, he held up his right arm. The left wasn’t responding well anymore.

“You some kind of new guard? Like a tallboy?” the woman asked, before shaking her head. “Can’t be... Doctor, maybe?” she continued, before laughing – a laugh that turned into a wheeze. “Ha, just kidding. Assassin, maybe.”

At the mention of the word ‘assassin’, Garrett saw Corvo’s hand clench into a fist.

“You’ve not been in the main city for a while, have you?” Garrett asked. If she’d not heard of the two masked felons that had been causing trouble for the past week, it was likely she’d come into this district before then.

The woman shook her head, something like a smile on her face.

“Passing through, huh?” she asked. “Hoping to catch a ride on the plague wagon? A few come through here, trying.”

Something in her tone suggested that those who tried it before weren’t successful.

The woman confirmed it with her next few words: “And they fall and break their necks, of course. But that won’t stop _you,”_ she added, apparently certain. Clearly she’d said the same words to people other than Garrett and Corvo. “You’re almost there. It’s pretty easy to get to the rooftops from here. You’ll see the way.”

Corvo didn’t speak, instead he simply turned and regarded Garrett. Garrett raised his right shoulder in a shrug.

“It’s a good a plan as any,” he said. He turned in the direction of the plague wagon’s destination, squinting, attempting to see. The distance was too great, the exit too far, he couldn’t see anything. “We’re running out of time,” he added.

Corvo nodded, agreeing.

“You first,” Garrett said, stepping aside so they could exit again.

Their route to the rooftop consisted of crossing between the two buildings. Not exactly difficult work, if Garrett had full use of all his limbs, but the constant pulling himself up by his arms had his shoulder twinging uncomfortably for a long time.

At the top, he paused, leaning against the doorframe for a moment. Corvo appeared to notice his sudden weakness, for he transported them the last few feet, to a balcony on the edge of the rooftop, where they overlooked the railway. Up here, the last rays of sunlight filtered through the fog, warming Garrett for a few brief seconds. He leaned against the railing, favouring his right side. His arm was starting to throb uncomfortably. His leg, still currently holding his weight, had succumbed to a dull ache.

“You’re going to have to get us down there,” Garrett said, looking at the electricity that sparked between the wires. He followed the rail with his eyes, trying to spot anything in the distance.

“Put your optical sight to use,” he said. “You see anything over there?”

Corvo crouched, steadying himself, before peering into the distance.

“People,” he said. “Plague victims, likely, or those unlucky enough to be caught in the crowd when they were rounded up. Probably infected now, anyway.” He was silent for a moment, looking down at a pair of figures on the floor nearby to them. Garrett could just make them out – two men, one of them attempting to heave the other onto a ledge.

_He watched his wife and daughter die of it. Now his younger brother,_ Erin said. _Soon the plague will take him, too. He just wanted to die at home. Not here, not in this place._

Garrett didn’t speak, and watched the pair far below them. He’d learned long ago to not be sympathetic, not let his heart feel for those he could no longer help.

“Shit,” Corvo muttered, breaking into Garrett’s thoughts. He looked up, following the man’s gaze, but he couldn’t see anything.

“Tallboys,” Corvo reported. “At least one, but they’re never usually alone. Could be an issue.”

Garrett looked over to the incoming plague wagon. “We’re in dark clothing, the light’s poor, and the tallboys aren’t going to be looking at us,” he reasoned. “As long as we lie flat enough and don’t move, we should be fine.”

“We don’t have the time to find another route,” Corvo said, by way of agreement. Garrett could tell his mind was focusing on what could be waiting for them at the Hound Pits, of what the Loyalists had done in their abscence, of _Emily._

_Poor girl,_ Garrett mused to himself, _lost the only stable thing in her life again._

_Maybe Corvo has lost the only stable thing in_ his _life, too,_ Erin whispered.

“Hold on,” Corvo said, placing his hand on Garrett’s arm, as the train came to a halt.

For a few, brief seconds, they waited as it deposited its payload. Then, as the train righted itself, Corvo transported them to the roof. They had a second to lay flat before the train started to move again.

Buffetted by the wind, Garrett pressed himself to the roof, Corvo’s hand still clutching his arm.

They passed between buildings, and Garrett risked raising his head, spotting two tallboys to their immediate right. He turned, to the left, noticing Corvo was too looking ahead of them.

_“Shit,”_ he heard the man mutter, before he suddenly raised his left hand.

The world _shuddered,_ the same black and white ripple from before spreading out between them. Garrett blinked, turning his head, attempting to see what had caused Corvo to stop time, when the man’s hand clamped down on his arm again.

Suddenly, the train was gone, they were on a catwalk. Not expecting to take his weight so suddenly, his left leg buckled, pain rocketing up from the wound to the matching one on his shoulder. He cursed, reaching out and gripping the edge of the catwalk, breath hissing out in pained pants.

“Sorry,” Corvo said, releasing his arm. “No time to tell you.”

“S’fine,” Garrett flapped his hand, still breathing hard, aware of the Wall of Light sparking near to them. Corvo stepped past him, unhooking the tank of whale oil that powered it, placing it gently on the floor.

“Are you okay to move?” he asked, and Garrett nodded, releasing the rail that he’d been holding in a white-knuckle grip. “We need to be quick. The tallboys are sure to notice the Wall of Light is depowered.”

Garrett nodded his assent – speech still somewhat beyond him for a moment – and they moved along the catwalk as quickly as his leg would permit. Which, admittedly, wasn’t very quick.

“Here,” Corvo said, turning to the left suddenly. Inside an alcove, there was a chain that would provide access to the lower level, where Garrett could see a doorway.

“Again, you first,” Garrett said. Corvo complied, sliding down the chain with ease, stepping out of the way once he’d reached the bottom.

Garrett’s right hand gripped the chain, and he carefully swung himself onto the linked metal, slowly sliding his way down with one arm. It was slow, and it still pulled on his damaged left shoulder, but he managed. He tried to ignore that he was panting by the time he’d reached the bottom, tried to ignore the sweat that was now running down his forehead.

Corvo, he saw, was watching him carefully. He couldn’t see the man’s face, but he could tell his worry was only increasing.

“I’ll be fine,” he said. “We just need to keep moving.”

If Corvo wasn’t convinced, he didn’t say. Garrett was glad of his silence.

“Come on, then,” he said, moving to the door.

The door, it turned out, was an exit out of the quarantine wall, likely for guards and similar personnel. It still begged the question as to how Daud had made it out of here each time he’d left his base, Garrett wondered silently. Their trip had been fraught with danger, and he didn’t exactly picture Daud’s men riding the train every time.

Corvo looked up at their surroundings.

“I think we’re in the Old Port District,” he said. “The Hound Pits is on the other side.”

“Well I hope you’ve got a good route,” Garrett muttered, as they moved between tall, stone buildings.

“Perhaps,” Corvo said, as they came to another door.

They came into a ruined and ramshackle street. Despite being outside the quarantine wall, this place, too, was suffering from the impact of the plague. Their path led right, around a corner, where the pair were suddenly bathed in a bright white light. Garrett couldn’t see anyone, however, but the sand and rubble that was trickling down from the crumbling buildings unsettled him. Corvo was silent, too, as if the oppressive atmosphere from the buildings made him afraid to talk, lest he cause them to collapse.

They moved slowly, wary of the buildings and the light, mounting a set of stairs.

“Careful,” Garrett muttered quietly, as he scanned the surrounding area. “Weepers. We should be alright if we’re quiet.”

Their way forward was blocked by wooden planks. Corvo reached up, prising a few off the wall as quietly as he could, while Garrett kept his eye on the Weepers below. They moved slowly, passing between each other like rats that pressed into each other when trying to get to the same place. Different than Gloomers, who roared and screamed themselves to exhaustion, clawed at their eyes and tried to stave off the nightmarish hallucinations.

All of that, caused by a shattered stone crystal. _What could it do here?_ he wondered.

A hand pressed onto his arm suddenly, and he flinched, turning to face the new threat.

Corvo raised his hand in apology. “I said we can go through,” he said. “You were- staring.”

“Sorry,” Garrett replied. “Mind wandered.”

He stepped forward, over the planks Corvo had left intact, squeezing through the gap he’d created.

“This leads to the sewer,” Corvo began-

“Wonderful,” Garrett muttered. He’d been missing those, lately.

Corvo laughed slightly, before continuing. “We can follow them back to the Hound Pits. If there’s one thing this cesspool of a city is good for, it’s their extensive sewer system.”

“I forgot,” Garrett said, as they made their way to an open doorway. “You’re not from here, are you?”

“No,” Corvo replied. “I was born on Serkonos. Karnaca – the capital – was my home, before I was recruited.”

“What was it like?” Garrett asked.

For a moment, Corvo said nothing.

“Some days, it was the most beautiful place you could look at. The water of the harbour would reflect the sunset every evening, and you could climb the cliffs to watch all the ships sailing in. Other days? Well-“ he broke off suddenly. “It could be like living in any other hellhole. Especially in some of the poorer areas. The nobility only spread so far.”

“Family?” Garrett prompted.

“No,” Corvo answered, shortly. “None left, anyway. My father used to work in lumber, but he died. I ended up on the streets – common, for boys of my age and social standing. I’m sure it’s the same where you’re from.”

Garrett nodded his agreement, remembering his less fortunate days spent hunting for nothing more than a meal, or a blanket to make the nights less cold. Now, his loot might be more expansive, and worth more, but he never forgot those times, and the work he’d put in to ensure he never went back.

They stopped at a sewer covering, which Corvo unscrewed. The raw stink of the sewer wafted up to them, and Garrett wrinkled his nose, glad for his mask again.

“Here,” Corvo offered, holding out his hand.

It was past the time for pride – Garrett took the proferred hand and allowed himself to be lowered down into the sewer, whereupon Corvo dropped down after him.

“If you were on the streets, how did you earn your position?” he asked, genuinely curious, as he looked at the brickwork around them. It wasn’t every a day an urchin would raise themselves to high social standing, after all.

“The Blade Verbena,” Corvo informed him. “Every year, Karnaca would host a sword duel festival. Fighters from across Serkonos would come, for the prize was a low officer’s rank in the Grand Serkonan Guard. I won, aged sixteen.”

“Impressive,” Garrett said, Corvo bowed his head in acknowledgement.

“I’m sure you’d already stolen half a city by the same age,” the man said. “In any case, the position allowed me to prove my worth, and two years later I was... gifted, shall we say, to Emperor Euhorn – Jessamine’s father – as an offering from the Duke of Serkonos. I was assigned to be her Lord Protector, and- well, here I stand now, in an Outsider-forsaken sewer.”

Garrett snorted. “Our jobs do lead us to interesting places,” he said, as they moved down a set of stairs and into the sewer proper.

There was a man ahead of them, Garrett saw, slumped against the wall and silhouetted in a bright light. He was injured, Garrett could tell by the way he held himself still, so as not to aggravate any wounds. The man coughed – worse than the woman they’d met earlier. If Garrett had to guess, he didn’t have long.

“You’re the ones who’s been takin’ down all the lords ‘n’ ladies,” the man said, as the pair approached. He sniffed, looking to his right.

“No way through this gate,” he said, “unless you got the sewer key. Only one place to get that key, and I wouldn’t go in there, not for all the gold in Dunwall Tower.”

“There wasn’t much there,” Garrett informed him, Corvo turned to face him slightly, the admonishing look clear, even if Garrett couldn’t see his face.

“I ain’t goin’ back,” the man repeated. “Not again. But maybe you could pull it off.”

“Somethin’ attacked us in the distillery,” the man continued. A Bottle Street Gang member, then, Garrett confirmed. He thought he’d smelled whiskey. “It used the rats, I know it sounds crazy! Then it run back under the streets.”

It _did_ sound crazy, but Garrett had learned that dying men didn’t often lie. Garrett suddenly recalled the body they’d found – Crowley, Slackjaw’s second. Corvo had also said about rats being able to strip a corpse to the bone. They’d never determined how Crowley had died.

“So we come down here,” the man said. “Slackjaw leadin’ the way. Went bad. I barely crawled out. Don’t know what happened to Slackjaw. He had the sewer key, though.”

Garrett slowly moved past them, to the door that now blocked their way.

“I’d pick it,” he began, “but I don’t really have the use of my left arm right now. And teaching you would take more time than we’d have. We know Slackjaw has the key,” he shrugged, “we’ll just have to find him and hope he isn’t too angry about my robbing of Bunting’s safe.”

“It was a fog!” the man exclaimed, as Garrett turned back towards them. “Then rats, rats everywhere. Slackjaw chased ‘em, deeper into the sewers.”

The man raised a hand, pointing to a series of pipes on the opposite wall that curved into another tunnel.

“It seems our way forward is clear, then,” Corvo said.

“And I was expecting this to be simple,” Garrett muttered. “I should know better by now.”

The pipes lead to a disused, enclosed tunnel, reeking of filth and excrement. A deep channel of water was to Garrett’s immediate left, but thankfully there was an alternate path to the right that involved climbing over a light and moving around a corner.

“Careful,” Corvo said, pointing ahead. “River Krusts.”

“Great,” Garrett replied, wondering if his day would get any better at this point.

“I’ve got something for them,” Corvo said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out an item. “Found it on some of the Overseers in the Flooded District.”

“Is that a _bomb?”_ Garrett asked, peering at the spherical object now sitting in Corvo’s palm.

“Yes,” Corvo replied, his casual tone unnerving Garrett slightly. The closest he ever got to using grenades was a flash bomb, for blinding anyone lucky enough to spot him. He hadn’t had any on him the night he’d attempted to rob the artist’s, and the Outsider apparently hadn’t felt the need to equip him with any.

“Stay behind the wall,” Corvo advised – Garrett didn’t need telling twice, and ducked behind the brickwork, peering around as Corvo pulled the pin, waited a beat and tossed the grenade towards the Krusts.

The explosion wasn’t huge, but it was enough to shake the floor and cause brick dust to fall from the ceiling. The grenade had done its job, however, taking out the Krusts that had attached themselves to the ceiling, and thus would have caused multiple problems if they’d simply tried to skirt them.

“Let’s hope that whatever grabbed Slackjaw didn’t notice the explosion,” Garrett said.

“Thank you for reminding me of that _after_ I threw the grenade,” Corvo answered, sounding tense all of a sudden. Garrett smirked to himself, gingerly lowering himself down into stone canal bed, which was dry. Inside the bed, the dank smell of the sewer was even worse, but at least he wasn’t having to wade through the water. Yet.

The tunnel led them past a pile of plague-corpses. Garrett absently wondered how they’d gotten there, but pushed the thought aside. They were moving down, he noticed, descending further below the surface. Thankfully, the smell wasn’t any worse. The tunnel itself looked as though it was once an access hatch for workers or something similar – maybe even smugglers – but years of disuse had rendered them crumbling and run-down.

Eventually, the tunnel ended – all that lay before them was a deep pool of water. It was surprisingly clear looking, considering their current location, Garrett supposed.

“Shit,” said Corvo.

Garrett eyed the water in front of them suspiciously. “Probably,” he agreed, huffing out a quiet laugh.

“Slackjaw _swam_ through this?”

“Or he was pulled through,” Garrett theorised. “He could be in there now, drowned, for all we know.”

“Shit,” Corvo repeated.

Garrett gingerly stepped over to a nearby rock, settling his weight upon it, so he could rest his leg. He’d been steadily ignoring the stabbing pain in it since they’d left the Rudshore gate.

There was no other way through the sewer tunnel. Turning back and finding a route above the surface _was_ an option, Garrett supposed, but neither he nor Corvo had any way of knowing if it would be safe, or even possible from this point. Garrett recalled having to travel across some very difficult stretches of terrain on his way _into_ the Flooded District, and the guards would be more vigilant for people coming out. Time was another factor – the sewers were the most direct route, and there was a certainty of there being a way forward. They didn’t have that certainty above ground.

_If only you hadn’t been so foolish in getting yourself hacked to pieces with a sword,_ he thought to himself. The uselessness of his left arm was becoming significantly problematic now – he couldn’t pick the lock of the sewer gate. It would take careful, precise movement that wasn’t afforded to him right now.

“Do we know if it leads anywhere?” he asked Corvo, who had been gazing into the pool. The man crouched, dipping his hand into the water.

“There’s some sort of current, I think,” Corvo said. “The water’s clear, too, which means it must be flowing _somewhere._ ”

He was silent for a moment, before apparently coming to some sort of decision.

“Wait here. I’m going to check. If I can’t see a way forward, we’ll have to backtrack and figure out another way. If Slackjaw’s down there, then…” he trailed off for a moment. “Well, he’ll likely still have the key on him.”

“Comforting,” Garrett muttered, as Corvo stepped towards the water. He stopped suddenly, turning back.

“If-“ he tried to begin, but Garrett waved his hand, cutting him off.

“We’re not having this discussion,” he said sharply.

Corvo fell silent, and nodded instead.

“Keep your guard up,” he said instead, “and watch for rats.”

He slipped into the water and disappeared, leaving Garrett alone in the tunnel.

The minutes stretched by, the sound of trickling water accompanied by the sounds of Garrett’s breathing, which, no matter how much he tried, he couldn’t seem to quiet.

_Somewhere nearby a man has taken his last breath,_ Erin whispered. _His eyes are still open._

“Don’t you start,” Garrett snapped, nerves fraying, and voice echoing uncomfortably on the stone walls. He closed his eyes for a moment, pinching the bridge of his nose with his right hand. He had a headache. Adding it to the sense of unease and doubt that had been growing in his mind, and Garrett found another problem he had been steadily ignoring.

He wasn’t a man easily disturbed, unnerved, or even _fazed_ by what he had seen. To do his job required a strong stomach – or a lack of conscience, at least.

_So why did he feel so afraid?_

He couldn’t place it – he wasn’t afraid for Corvo, per se; never truly had been, if he were honest. The man was a capable fighter, thinker, and _swimmer._

Just, _there,_ lingering in the back of his mind and in the shadows of his thoughts, an overall feeling of _wrong._

He cast his gaze down into the water, shifting his position slightly, just in time to see Corvo’s figure emerge in the periphery of his enhanced vision. He tracked the man, noting the smooth, confident strokes, and the ease in which he moved through the water.

He wasn’t jealous. He wasn’t. Just… envious. His experiences with swimming hadn’t been good ones, after all. The last time in his home had been escaping the Thief-Taker General beneath the Baron’s Manor. And _that_ had been shallow, fast-moving water.

It had still been enough to make him remember things he rather would not.

Corvo emerged, easily hauling himself up onto the stonework, removing his mask.

“There’s a way forward,” he reported. “Where it goes, I can’t be sure – it was a long tunnel – but I’m certain we can get through without drowning. We’re not far from the surface as it is, and the tunnel leads deeper into the Old Port District, which is where we need to go…” he trailed off, shrugging his shoulders.

Garrett nodded, chewing his lower lip, glad Corvo couldn’t see him do it.

“Shit,” he muttered.

“I think we’ve established that,” Corvo replied. “You could wait here, if you wanted,” he offered, clearly understanding the predicament they were in. “I could go find Slackjaw, get the key, and come back.”

Garrett shook his head. “We don’t know how long that will take,” he argued. “There might even be a better route through this way. Slackjaw’s man said there were rat swarms, and I-“ he faltered for a moment, struggling to find the right words.

“I wouldn’t want you to go alone, anyway,” he said eventually, quietly.

Corvo, for his part, didn’t say anything. He offered Garrett something of a smile, though, to which the thief decidedly looked away.

_Do you truly fear for his safety?_ Erin’s voice asked him, her whispering still ever-present. _Or are you afraid you’ll be left alone again?_

Garrett scowled at the brick he’d chosen to look at, but ignored her words. He reached up behind him, grabbing his bow and unfolding it. Holding it in his left hand, he slowly began to unwind the bowstring. It had survived his fall into the floodwater reasonably well, but Garrett could tell this would be for longer, and likely a lot worse.

“I don’t want to go into dangerous territory with a weapon that won’t work. A damp bowstring is an amateur’s fault,” he said, by way of explanation, as he worked the string off the bow. The mechanism would still refold, and did – he placed it back in its regular position. The string, he stored in the newly-waterproofed pouch on the small of his back.

Corvo inspected the pool of water again. “I don’t think it would be wise to tie us together,” he began, “but then again, I don’t know how well you’ll be able to hold on.” He pointedly looked at Garrett’s left shoulder.

“I’ll manage,” Garrett said. “We don’t have any rope to spare, anyway.”

“There are other ways,” Corvo said, indicating the belt he had strung across his chest. “When I was a boy, during my less… socially responsible days, shall we say, we would scale the cliffs by Karnaca tied together with belts. If one fell, we all did.”

“Did anyone?” Garrett asked.

“A couple of times,” Corvo said. “Once, two of our group had gotten into an argument about something – a girl, or a boy, maybe – and decided to sabotage each other halfway up the cliff.” He snorted, clearly lost in the memory. “Fools only survived because the rest of us were strong enough to hold them up and haul them – and ourselves – up the cliff. Don’t think they argued much after that.”

He shrugged, looking down at the water again. “Still, it’s been a long time since my cliff-climbing days. I’m not sure how well I would even be able to tie you to me.”

Garrett slowly stood, wincing as a shard of pain rocketed up his leg, before moving to the side of the pool.

“Let’s just get this over with,” he said.

Even though he knew it to be cold, the water still shocked him slightly as he lowered himself to the edge, sitting with his legs immersed in the water. He watched as the area immediately around him slowly turned a delicate pink as the water seeped into the bandages.

“Those are becoming more obsolete by the second,” Corvo commented. “We _really_ need to get you to a doctor.”

“One thing at a time,” Garrett replied, as Corvo pushed himself back into the pool, treading water until he was facing Garrett.

“I recall teaching Emily to swim being something like this,” he mused aloud, earning himself a scowl from Garrett. “Remember,” he continued, ignoring the look Garrett was giving him. “Kick with your feet and keep your head up. Try not to kick me, though.”

Garrett nodded jerkily, and before he could stop himself thinking about what a _terrible_ idea this was, he pushed himself into the water.

There was a rather large amount of ungainly splashing, he was slightly ashamed to admit. The current wasn’t strong, or fast flowing, so he wasn’t immediately pulled away. He managed to keep himself afloat fairly well. Maintaining a death-like grip on the side of pool helped, he supposed. Corvo, for his part, was patient – something Garrett was grateful for, considering the more time they spent here, the less likely they would catch up with the Loyalists. He kept a steady hand on Garrett’s shoulder. Garrett’s left leg ached with the exertion of keeping him afloat, but he put it out of his mind.

_There was no other way._

“Well, that’s the worst bit over,” Corvo said.

“I know you’re lying,” Garrett replied, through gritted teeth.

Corvo laughed. “Keep hold of me,” he said, seriously. “I’ll get us through. Just concentrate on holding your breath.”

Garrett nodded in response, trying not to think about the way his breath echoed uncomfortably around him, or the tightness that was growing in his chest, or the cold seeping into his bones and muscles.

“Keep your eyes open, too, if you can,” Corvo was saying, although his voice sounded distant and far away to Garrett. “If you spot the surface, let me know.”

_No going back now._

“I’m going to count to three,” Corvo began.

“Please don’t,” Garrett shot back. “Can we just- just _go,_ already?”

The last time Garrett had been fully submerged in water had been his plunge into the stagnant water of the Flooded District. Before that? Likely his escape from Northcrest Manor, but that had been _different,_ he’d had marginal control and it had been shallow enough for him to keep his head above the surface.

But _like this?_ The last time, he certainly hadn’t been willing.

This time was marginally better than that last time. Only marginally, so, however. Garrett was thankful for Corvo’s strength and speed as he pulled them through the water, but it didn’t stop the feeling of deep-rooted and almost long-forgotten _fear_ settling in his stomach.

As a child – _stupid, foolish –_ he’d been running from a gang of older boys. Simple thieves and blackhands, but back then, to Garrett, they’d been almost like royalty. A goal for an orphan and an urchin to aspire to. They hadn’t wanted a child tagging along, causing trouble, and they also carried with them a mean streak that Garrett had eventually grown to recognise in blackhand gangs. One of the reasons he remained independent. The gang – when they’d caught him – had decided that the best way to get rid this nuisance, was to throw him in the river.

_“Filthy little rat. A wash in the river oughta clean you up.”_

_“Oy – can rats swim?”_

_“Dunno. Let’s find out, lads!”_

After, when he’d somehow surfaced and washed up near the port, after a dock worker had hauled his sodden and half-dead form onto solid ground, he’d avoided the water. For weeks, he’d flinched and cowered every time a rainstorm had hit the city. He’d gotten better since then – the weather didn’t affect him – but there were still certain stretches of river that he avoided. And he certainly never went swimming in them.

He’d had two rules, after that. Don’t get caught, and don’t end up in water that goes above your head. He’d already been caught by the Whalers, and now here he was with the water surrounding him on all sides.

Here, with the sound of the water roaring in his ears, Garrett was sure he heard the jeering laughter of the boys again. A loud harsh sound, above him – he jolted, expelling a few bubbles of air from his nose, and turned, tried to pinpoint the source. Tried to find the boys again.

He couldn’t – _couldn’t –_ the water was confusing, distorting the sound and his mind and senses. Corvo’s grip on his arm tightened as he tried to move again. He was _sure_ he heard the boys again. They were just above the surface.

_A child again, but this time you’re doomed to drown, Garrett._

He needed to get to the surface. The grip on his arm was holding him down, keeping him under. He needed – _needed –_ to get up, to breathe, and to show the boys that he wasn’t a child anymore, that actions such as theirs had _consequences_. He needed to cement the fact he was still alive, and not a boy who had drowned long ago when a gang of blackhands had thrown him into the river.

He kicked, struggled, pushed. The arm holding onto him faltered for a moment, and he took his chance. He wasn’t going to get caught again, by the Trickster, he _wasn’t_ going to drown again. He kicked again, pulled with his arms, seeking the surface that he was _sure_ was just above him.

Except, it wasn’t.

His hands met impenetrable rock and stone – cold and slimy from their years of submersion. Garrett reached further, found only more stone, more darkness, more _nothing._ He turned, regaining his senses a little, tried to find Corvo, but _couldn’t._ The water was too murky, his mind was too splintered, and the _voices were too loud._

_“Is he dead?”_

_“Probably. I ain’t known a kid who could survive that. And the filthy rat wanted to join? Pitiful.”_

_“Well lads, there’s the answer. Rats can’t swim.”_

They laughed again- left Garrett trapped and screaming below the surface- lungs burning and aching with a need for air- as the current pulled him further down and the darkness began to swallow him and he struggled to pull himself up, clawing at the stone.

When the arm came out of nowhere and grabbed him, Garrett choked, swallowing water. He flailed, trying pull away, but it wrapped tightly around his chest, pulling him away from the stone that denied his access to the surface. Another arm reached out, the brand on the back flaring for a moment.

And then, suddenly – _gloriously –_ they were no longer underwater. Garrett was no longer drowning, no longer swallowing water but _air,_ air that burned his throat and lungs. He heaved, expelling water for the second time that day, as Corvo’s mark flared again.

They were out of the water fully this time, on a set of metal stairs, which Garrett scrambled to reach the handrail and loop his arm around it, lest he fall into the water again. He reached up, tearing off his scarf as his lungs heaved again. He coughed, spitting out more water, his limbs shaking as he tried to remember why he’d ever agreed to this, why he’d ever left home in the first place. Maybe it would have been better if the boy had drowned in the river that day.

He heard a voice next to him, but didn’t register it. Could only hear the jeering laughter of the boys.

He wanted to go back, find them, and throw _them_ in the water. Outsider and his quest be damned – let Red Jenny and the Trickster come for him, too, if they wanted. He’d never agreed to this, never agreed to _any of it._ He just wanted to get back to his city, his _home._

“Tell me about your home.”

He jolted at the sudden intrusion into his shattered thoughts. He opened his eyes a fraction, to see Corvo, without his mask, a carefully-hidden concern on his face.

It took him a few more moments to process what the man had just said.

“What?”

“Your city,” Corvo continued, slowly. “Tell me about it. All I know is what the Outsider chose to show in the Void, or what Sokolov drew. Probably very different from the real thing. Tell me about it,” he said simply.

Garrett slowly looked down, took in his shaking hands and the scarf he had entwined between them. Focused on twisting it between his fingers as he tried to form sentences.

“Honestly?” he began, voice rasping slightly. He coughed again. “Some days, it’s a shithole. Dark and dirty, full of soot and dust from the Ironworks. If not that, then manure. _Also_ full of people who’d want to kill me, or you, or anyone who trespasses on their territory. Still, there’s no place I’d rather be.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, picturing the view from the top of the Clock Tower on a cold, clear night, when only the thieves and the watch guards were outside, partners in the neverending duel between law and outlaw.

“You learn to look past its dark corners. Appreciate them, in my line of work. The dark corners lead to older, more forgotten things. Layer upon layer of history and _people._ The Outsider speaks of the old places in your world as though he is the only one who remembers them. In mine, you can _see_ it. Find it, too, if you’re so inclined. A library of an ancient order, strange glyphs carved into the walls. A cathedral with a long-forgotten symbol emblazoned on its windows. Even the Old Gods, outlawed as they are, still remind us of what the city used to be, what it _still is.”_

“How many Gods does your world have?” Corvo asked. Garrett shrugged, grimacing as the movement pulled on his shoulder.

“Depends on who you’d ask. There are Old Gods – the Trickster, The Master Builder, Red Jenny, probably more. Whoever they once were is buried in the city, like their chapels. But the Northcrests outlawed them in the face of industry and efficiency.” Garrett snorted. “The people cling to the Old Gods, to anything that survives, in the hopes that _they’ll_ survive, too.”

“Do you?” Corvo asked. Garrett could tell he was genuinely curious.

“Now that you’ve met the Outsider, do you trust in _his_ will? Curse, or invoke, _his_ name?” he asked. Corvo seemed to think about it for a moment, before shaking his head.

“No. After… After Erin, and the Primal, what little faith I had was gone. Not that I had much in the first place.”

Corvo nodded, silent, as Garrett carefully squeezed the last of the water out from his scarf. His hands had stopped shaking, he noticed, and he was breathing more like a regular person.

“Thank you,” he said quietly. “I- For-“

“Don’t mention it,” Corvo replied, cutting him off. “We really _should_ be moving on, though.”

Garrett nodded, slowly hauling himself upright, leaning against the railing. He didn’t want to admit that the small movement had caused no small amount of pain, but Corvo appeared to notice anyway. He stepped to Garrett’s side, wrapping his arm around his waist and holding him upright.

“You’re not carrying me,” Garrett said. It _was_ easier, though, to lean his weight into Corvo, and take it off his leg.

“No,” Corvo agreed. “Helping. It shouldn’t be too far,” he added. “Just keep a lookout.”

Garrett realised he hadn’t actually taken in their new surroundings, caught up as he was in his own memories. Whatever this place had been in the past, Garrett didn’t know. Now it was full of water, and tall stone walls surrounded them on all sides. They were on a metal staircase, one that wound its way up the side of a building, somehow managing to stay attached to the wall.

The staircase led to a metal door, set into the stone wall. A tunnel stretched beyond – Garrett could see a light at the far end. He focused the Eye, attempting to see who or what had caused the light.

“Two people,” he said, as they paused in front of the door. “Male and female. One of them’s Slackjaw,” he reported. He frowned suddenly. “The other I recognise, but I’m not sure. I would be careful, though.”

Corvo didn’t reply, and carefully pushed open the door. They moved slowly down the tunnel – Garrett half walking, half being carried at this point – and stopped when they took in the scene at the very end.

“I’m going to boil off the nasty fat and sinew and carve a pretty song on your bones,” Granny Rags said to the shackled figure of Slackjaw.

Slackjaw didn’t appear to be pleased with that idea, for he shouted with all his voice.

“ _Someone come kill this crazy witch! I can make you rich!”_

“Who does he hope will hear him?” Garrett muttered, before realising that he and Corvo were likely the people Slackjaw was hoping for, if not his own men.

“Quiet now,” Granny Rags admonished. “Granny needs to concentrate.”

“She’s marked,” Garrett said. “The Outsider marked her. I can tell.”

She didn’t wear the brand like Corvo, or Daud. There was no Mark on her left hand that shone with a bright blue hue in Garrett’s vision. No, instead, he could just see the _power,_ the primordial force that had been gifted to Granny Rags long ago.

_Careful,_ Erin warned. _She treads with purpose. And is not as frail as she seems._

“Are you two boys going to stand there all day, or are you going to help me?” Granny Rags suddenly called, causing Garrett to look over to the pair again – Slackjaw, chained to the floor, pleading with the woman who was now facing the doorway the he and Corvo were stood in.

“Play along, for now,” Corvo whispered, carefully moving them into the room. “She has the key.”

“Have you boys been playing with those ruffians from the Flooded District again?” Granny Rags asked, her tone somewhat admonishing. Garrett wondered if this was what having a parent was like. Albeit a somewhat blind, supernaturally powered parent, who was apparently about to commit an act of cannibalism. “Sit down, dear,” she said to Garrett. “We can prepare the stew while you rest.”

Garrett found himself being lowered down onto the stone slab, next to Slackjaw.

“You cheating bastard,” Slackjaw spat, struggling in his restraints.

It took Garrett a moment to realise why the man was so angry.

“Oh, the safe,” he said. “I left you the paintings,” he added. “There wasn’t much else left to steal, honestly.”

Slackjaw didn’t say anything for a moment, before apparently deciding now wasn’t the time to discuss whatever affront he felt for Garrett besting him at his own game.

“You gotta get me out of here,” the man pleaded. “She’s out of her mind- I can get you what you want: whiskey, money, women! I’ll let thing with the safe go! I even have a key to the sewerways!”

Corvo was speaking to Granny Rags, who was talking about birthday presents, or something similar. Garrett wondered whether she’d truly lost her mind, or if it was all a ruse to lull people into a false sense of security.

“I’m not going to help you, that’s crazy!” Corvo was saying. Garrett hoped his refusal to help Granny Rags wouldn’t make the situation turn sour.

Garrett noticed Corvo had managed to position them so that Granny Rags had her back turned to him. Garrett could _see_ the key attached to her belt. And, at the moment, she was suitably distracted.

With a quick glance to Slackjaw, Garrett slithered forward, right arm outstretched. He would need to move slowly, carefully. She might be blind, but there were other ways to see.

“Well then, I think you’d better leave,” Granny Rags said, tone cold and dangerous-sounding, right as Garrett’s fingers brushed the key on her belt.

The _shift_ was almost immediate; Granny Rags span, hand clamping down on Garrett’s wrist. How she’d felt him grab it, he didn’t know.

“Oh no you don’t!” she began, her voice taking on a whole new level of threat. “I’ll _kill you, cook you,_ and eat your _heart_ for breakfast.”

A bit extreme, if Garrett said so himself, but he didn’t have time to dwell on it. The room around them was suddenly filled with a thick, impenetrable fog. Even with the Eye, Garrett was having difficulty seeing through it – he saw Corvo draw his sword and crossbow, preparing to attack or defend if necessary.

Granny Rags had disappeared, a second after she had discovered Garrett’s attempt to take the key from her. He heard her voice ringing out from the mist.

“Bones of the great leviathan, protect me!”

Then came the rats.

Garrett was glad to be on his small island of stone, as a swarm of rats emerged from the mist nearby. Corvo managed to fend them off fairly well, leaping back onto the stone next to Garrett, sword slashing at the seething mass of teeth and fur.

“She’s the source,” Garrett said. “She’s the fog – the rats – the things that have been targeting Bottle Street.”

“We need to take her out, then,” Corvo agreed.

“You can’t kill her with a sword,” Slackjaw said, rattling his restraints. Garrett had almost forgotten about him. “Look around – there’s a cameo of a young girl. It’s her! Destroy it with the furnace! Says in one o’ her books it’s the only way to get rid of her forever! It won’t look like her, but it’s s’posed to be her. When she was young. It’s where she gets her powers.”

How Slackjaw knew that, Garrett didn’t have time to wonder. The rats were starting to attempt to leap onto the stone. Corvo was fending them off for now, but they wouldn’t have long.

_Are rats attracted to blood?_ he wondered, _Or is it just those creatures that were supposed to be in the cathedral in the Old Quarter?_

“It’s likely up there,” Garrett said, pushing thoughts of his home aside, pointing to a barely-discernable room above them. “Only problem is, she’ll try and stop you if you get up there.”

“Can you move?” Corvo asked, firing a bolt at a large shape that came hurtling out of the fog towards them.

“I can try,” Garrett responded, hauling himself to his feet, ignoring the shaking in his left side. “Keep her off of me. I’ll probably only get one shot at this.”

The path to Granny Rags’ room was via a set of stairs around the edge of the room. Casting a quick glance to his left, Garrett moved towards the stairs, practically dragging his left leg along the floor.

A swarm of rats came towards him, but Corvo beat them to it, slashing at the mob with his sword.

He ignored the stabbing pain in his leg, ignored the fact he was making the stairs slippery with blood. He saw Corvo in the corner of his eye, fending off a series of blows from Granny Rags herself. The wall to his right was painted with red symbols – was it _blood?_

Either way, he didn’t get a chance to consider what the symbols were painted with, as Granny Rags suddenly materialised in front of him.

Garrett was becoming very tired of having to deal with supernaturally enhanced people. It just _wasn’t fair._ Acting on instinct, he reached into his quiver, drawing an arrow. The bow was still unstrung (he would have to rectify that sooner rather than later), but he could still do some damage with an arrow.

The arrow he’d chosen was a Choke, sulphur and quicklime mixed to his own specific recipe. It was also his last one, and he wasted no time in smashing the small glass vial over her head.

She’d clearly not been expecting an attack like that, and it gave Garrett the few precious moments to slip past her while she was engulfed in the substance.

He made it into the room, leg almost giving out on the last few steps.

The room was mostly dominated by a large furnace – big enough to fit a human body – that took up one wall. It was on, too – Garrett was assaulted by bright light and heat. The rest of the room consisted mainly of a bed and some chairs covered in sheets. Above them, was a painting of the Outsider. He recognised it as Sokolov’s work, and briefly wondered how the man knew what the Outsider looked like. He apparently didn’t know what his features were like, at any rate. Or the haze of paint around his features was intended.

_Cameo, cameo, cameo,_ he thought to himself, pulling his gaze away from the artwork, repeating the word as a mantra. _You’re a thief. You know where people keep their valuables. Where would a blind witch keep the source of her power?_

If she were sensible, she would keep it far, far away. It was supposed to hold her power, after all. Garrett didn’t put much stock into magical artefacts, but the past day alone had given him enough reason to not question Granny Rags’ method of keeping alive.

Unless, of course, it only worked if she kept it close by. And it was a cameo, of her when she was younger, and probably better-looking. She might not be able to see it, but there was likely a sentimental value to it.

His eyes fell on the bed, and the mass of pillows scattered there. Hiding an object under your pillow was a very sentimental thing to do, Garrett had found. Heirlooms and usually high-priced, but meaningful, objects often found themselves under pillows. The owner operated under the notion that no thief would be able to take the item without them noticing. Garrett had disproved that on manyoccasions.

_She wasn’t that obvious, was she?_

Garrett moved to the bed, any thought of being delicate pushed aside as the fog slowly began to fill the room. He didn’t want to be caught by Granny Rags while holding the one thing she would definitely kill him for having.

Outside, he heard the sound of a pistol firing, and suddenly remembered that time wasn’t exactly on his side here. He tossed the pillows aside, hand miraculously closing around something palm-sized, cold, and metal.

Slackjaw was right – the cameo looked nothing like Granny Rags, but it was likely the object he had described. Looking at it with the Eye, Garrett could _see_ the power radiating off it, swirling tendrils of black and purple and red that snaked out into the mist around him.

He gripped it tightly in his hand, thumb running over the portrait – it wasn’t carved from shell, like a regular cameo, but something else. Whalebone, if he had to guess. Everything else in this city was made from whales, after all.

He didn’t have long to appraise it, instead he dragged himself over to the furnace, pulling the handle to open it.

Before he could throw the item into the furnace, however, a hand locked itself around his wrist, another pressed down on his injured shoulder.

For a blind madwoman, Granny Rags was proving to be more dangerous than the Whalers.

His legs buckled as Granny Rags increased the pressure. “You’re a fool to try and help him!” she shouted, painfully close to his right ear. Garrett winced, attempting to shake her loose, wondering where Corvo was, before he was painfully brought back to the present.

_You’ve managed on your own before. You can do this._

He kicked out with his good leg, vision whiting out as Granny Rags simply pressed harder on his shoulder. Her grip on his wrist tightened, and she slammed his wrist into the brickwork surrounding the furnace, attempting to force him to drop the cameo.

_Well, if she wants me to let go._

Gathering the last of his strength, he hauled himself forward, almost lifting the old woman off the floor with his efforts. His right hand pitched forward, grip opening to hurl the cameo into the open furnace.

Granny Rags practically _shrieked_ into his right ear – he might have gone deaf – instantly releasing his wrist to lean forward and try and grab the cameo. Garrett spun, attempting to shake her loose from his shoulder, but his left leg protested too much, completely giving way this time. He fell sideways, pitching them towards the still open furnace, right shoulder almost ending up in the flames.

“Get _off_ me!” he protested, finding his feet and attempting to loosen her grip on his left shoulder. Thankfully, she was more interested in the cameo than him – she was actually _attempting to reach into the burning furnace._

Everything seemed to slow down, after that, as Garrett violently twisted himself once more in an attempt to throw her off, turning his body away from the furnace. At the same time, a shape hurtled out of the mist, slamming into him and Granny Rags. Garrett fell to the floor, stifling a shout of pain has he did so, as his leg ended up trapped under his body. Using the strength remaining in his arms, he hauled himself backwards, away from the light and heat. Granny Rags, however, ended up hurtling _toward_ the open door, and onto the metal grating _inside_ the furnace.

The flames caught on her clothing almost instantly.

The sound Granny Rags made was one Garrett wouldn’t forget. It echoed from inside the furnace, but from _elsewhere,_ as well, a place he couldn’t name but lingered at the edge of perception. Briefly, he reached out, some half-formed idea of pulling her out forming in his mind, anything to stop the _screaming,_ but suddenly, the door closed, cutting off the sound.

The room fell silent, almost uncomfortably, compared to the noise before. Garrett leaned back against the bed, closing his eyes, as Slackjaw released the handle that controlled the furnace door. The shape that had hurtled into him was Corvo – Garrett heard the mechanism of his sword folding away. He was breathing hard, pain radiating from his wounds and a still-prevalent headache.

“Why is it I seem to be doing all the fighting while you’re sitting down?” Corvo asked, the humour in his voice easily detectable.

“Piss off, taffer,” Garrett replied.

He heard a dry chuckle at that, and could tell Corvo was raising his eyebrows.

“Do I even want to ask what one of those are?” he asked.

“No,” Garrett groaned, levering himself into a better sitting position, pressing a hand to his shoulder, which was bleeding freely again.

“You wanna know something funny?” Slackjaw asked. Garrett cracked an eye open to see him leaning against the furnace. “When we were kids, we were all scared of Granny Rags. Thought she was a terrible witch! Then we grew up, and figured she was just a sad old lady. We were right the first time. Now, ain’t that funny?”

His tone was anything but amused; mournful, hollow, maybe even scared.

_The children used to circle Granny Rags, following along and taunting,_ Erin whispered.

“I owe you,” he continued. “Both of you. I’ll let Bunting’s safe go. And I ain’t got much, but it’s yours.”

“Keep your money,” Corvo told him, stepping across to Garrett. He crouched, inspecting Garrett’s shoulder again. “Tear me a strip from that bedsheet.”

If Slackjaw was annoyed at being suddenly ordered around, he didn’t show it. Instead, he did as asked, ripping the bedsheet into strips, handing them to Corvo. Corvo, in turn, wrapped them tightly around Garrett’s shoulder, drawing pained, hissing breaths from Garrett.

“Perhaps tell me what you’re doing _before_ you do it, next time,” he hissed, as Corvo moved onto his leg.

“We’re almost there,” Corvo replied. “Just need to hold you together until you get to the physician.”

“You look worse than I feel,” Slackjaw commented, lighting a cigarette. Garrett wrinkled his nose as the cloying, stale smelling smoke wafted over to them, but chose not to speak in favour of biting his lip as Corvo wound the makeshift bandage around his leg.

“What happened?” Slackjaw continued. “You two don’t look like people who get taken out easily.”

“We were betrayed,” Corvo replied.

“ _You_ were, maybe,” Garrett amended. “I always knew we were going to end up in the river.”

Slackjaw huffed out a laugh as Corvo pulled Garrett to his feet, supporting him almost entirely now. He couldn’t put weight on his leg – his exertions before must have moved the bolt somehow, because any movement sent a shard of pain rocketing up his leg, causing it to buckle instantly.

“Come on, there’s a gate over here,” he said; the three moved across the room to the gate beyond, whereupon Slackjaw produced a key, unlocking it.

The gate led to a disused room, likely part of Granny Rags’ hideout. To their left, wooden planks stretched across a hole, where a torrent of water rushed underneath.

“This’ll take you back to the main sewer,” Slackjaw said, crouching by the boards. “Near the main gate headin’ into the Old Port District.”

“A shortcut,” Corvo surmised. Garrett, for his part, heaved a sigh.

“Great, more swimming.”

“Ah, the current’s pretty quick,” Slackjaw said, pulling up one of the boards. “Likely you’ll just be able to sit in it and float back, without movin’ at all.”

“Sounds comforting,” Garrett muttered, noticing that Corvo was looking at the far corner of the room, where a set of stairs could be seen. Garrett could also see an ethereal, purple light that only usually meant one thing was nearby.

He couldn’t _hear_ the runes. Not like Corvo could. He could see their effect, though. The subtle pull of the atmosphere around them, the almost invisible vortex of jet-black darkness and void that surrounded each one. When Corvo activated them, he felt that too, a ripple spreading from the rune into the immediate air around them. But he couldn’t detect them, not at first, not unless he was extremely close. He understood perfectly: the runes were not meant for him.

Corvo pulled him over to the shrine (Slackjaw was behind them, Garrett briefly wondered what he would see), before reaching out and grasping the rune.

For a split second, Garrett was _sure_ he saw something. The mark on the rune _blazed,_ glowing a bright white in his periphery. If Corvo noticed it, he made no outward sign, and it was over so quickly Garrett wasn’t sure if it had actually happened.

_“You find your way into such interesting places, gentlemen.”_

The Outsider was as inscrutable as ever – infuriating, really. Garrett mainly liked to deal in absolutes, in what he could do and what he knew he could achieve. The Outsider was a representation of things he couldn’t control, couldn’t forsee, and could barely comprehend. And, worst of all, the Outsider seemed to _enjoy_ it all.

_“At the eye of the storm raging between Granny Rags and this man who has lived his whole life with a cleaver in one hand and a bottle in the other.”_

At mention of Slackjaw, Garrett risked a quick glance behind him, but found the room around them to be frozen in an instant of time. His mouth quirked, somewhat in irritation, before he refocused his gaze on the Outsider, who turned to address him.

_“Crawling out of those flooded ruins, bleeding for a cause you barely even follow? Winding your way back to the pub where you last saw Emily? Where is she now?”_

The last comment was directed at Corvo – Garrett felt the man’s grip on his waist tighten, but neither of them spoke.

_“How does it feel now, knowing your allies betrayed you? Strange how there’s always a little more innocence left to lose. And while Garrett here will tell you he expected it, that it was always going to be, we all know that even he felt its sting. Perhaps he felt it the most, in the end.”_

One side of the Outsider’s mouth had turned up, almost in a smirk, as his black-eyed gaze flitted over the pair of them, to the wounds Garrett sported, and the fact Corvo was holding him up. Garrett narrowed his eyes in return, as if daring the Outsider to keep staring.

_“And Daud,”_ the Outsider settled on; Corvo stiffened at his side. _“The man who killed the Empress. You had him in the palm of your hand, and you let him walk away? You fascinate me.”_

“He never says anything useful,” Garrett muttered, as the Outsider faded back into the void once more. Corvo nodded, apparently agreeing.

“Hey- are you two okay?” a voice behind them asked; the pair turned to see Slackjaw looking at them, expression somewhere between concern and confusion. “You went into some kind of daze. What- what _was_ that?” he asked, pointing to the rune that had crumbled in Corvo’s hand.

“You know what they say,” Corvo began, letting the dust trickle onto the floor, “ _The Outsider walks among us.”_

At mention of the Outsider, Slackjaw’s- well, if Garrett were honest, his jaw went slack. After a moment, however, he straightened, taking a long draw from his cigarette.

“Say no more,” he said. “I’ve had enough dealings with this- this- _otherworldly shit_ to last me a lifetime.”

“I know _that_ feeling,” Garrett replied, as they moved to the rushing water of the sewer outlet.

For a short while, he looked down at the torrent of water. It was shallower than the pool they’d travelled through before, the current was faster, but it didn’t stop old fears raising themselves once more. Garrett clenched his jaw, steeling himself for the journey.

“Are you ready?” Corvo asked him, seemingly aware that Garrett wasn’t in a position to argue about their method of travel. Time was becoming a too-important issue to ignore, as was the throbbing pain in his shoulder, leg, and head.

“No,” Garrett admitted, “but don’t let that stop us.”

“Think I’ll stay here awhile,” Slackjaw said. “Take in what we just did here, actually check to see if the witch is dead. Here,” he added, passing the key to Corvo. “This’ll get you through the sewer gates.”

“Keep low for a while,” Corvo advised, pocketing the key. “The Whalers have a contract on you. They didn’t get to complete it because- well, you disappeared.”

“The Whalers?” Slackjaw asked, raising an eyebrow. “You two really do get into some weird shit if you tangled with _them_ and survived.”

“Just about,” Garrett muttered.

 Corvo turned to look at him for a moment, before Slackjaw extended a hand.

“I guess this is it. Luck to you, Corvo,” he said, before smiling again. “Aye, I know who you are. I’ll keep your secret. Least I can do, after what you did for me.”

Garrett felt Corvo relax slightly, at those words, and he shook the proferred hand.

“Never did find out _your_ name,” Slackjaw said, offering his hand to Garrett, too.

“That’s probably for the best,” Garrett said, but he shook his hand anyway. Slackjaw chuckled, nodding his agreement.

“All right, master thief, keep your name. You gotta tell me, though- how did you get into the safe? Thing looked like it hadn’t been touched. The screwdriver my boys had wedged in there was still there! You woulda had to have taken that out to get to the dials!”

Garrett smirked. “Rule number one: leave everything as you found it.”

“Surely rule number one would be _‘don’t get caught’,”_ Corvo said.

“That’s a given,” Garrett told him.

Slackjaw smirked. “We’ll make a criminal out of you yet, Lord Protector.”

“I think it’s time we left,” Corvo said quietly, before stepping over to the hole, pulling Garrett with him. Garrett snorted, before he became serious once more.

“Just-“ he began, “just don’t let go of me. I can’t swim at the moment, anyway.”

_You can’t swim at all,_ Erin reminded him, causing him to scowl at the water below.

The water was still as cold as ever, but at least this time Garrett could keep his head above it and let the water simply wash them further downstream. The tunnel was long, curving slightly, and heading downwards.

Eventually, they washed out into a low tunnel – the water disappeared into a drain beneath them. Thankfully, Corvo took the brunt of their landing on his feet, making sure Garrett didn’t cause any more damage to his leg.

The followed the tunnel, into the sewer outlet near the gate – Slackjaw’s lackey was still propped up against the wall. Except, this time, he was no longer breathing.

“I wonder how many men Slackjaw has left,” Garrett wondered aloud.

_He and his thugs started in Treavor’s Alley. Now his influence is felt over the entire island of Gristol,_ Erin informed him.

He probably had enough, then, Garrett reckoned, that this setback wouldn’t cost him too dearly.

“Come on,” Corvo said, pulling them over to the gate and unlocking it.

From here, the sewer was well lit, dry, and inhabited, Garrett noticed. Corvo halted as a voice floated up through the tunnel.

“Civilians,” Garrett said, straining to see. “Can’t tell how many,” he added. “They won’t be a problem.”

Corvo nodded in agreement, and they slowly made their way down the tunnel. The conversations of the plague survivors (what else would they be, Garrett theorised) halted as they drew close, and the pair found themselves subjected to curious, somewhat fearful, looks.

“I don’t have anything for you to take!” a woman said, backing away from them slightly. Garrett supposed they did look quite threatening, masked and bloodied and dripping wet.

“They don’t,” Garrett agreed, eyeing the makeshift shelters the group had erected in the sewer, sheets of corrugated metal and old mattresses formed into the shape of a home.

They slowly moved through the group, careful not the cause any sort of commotion. In a fight, they wouldn’t win, not with Garrett in his current condition, and the sheer number of people they would be up against.

“Sit down,” Corvo said suddenly, lowering Garrett into a chair next to a dying fire. Garrett found he didn’t have much choice in the matter, and leaned forward slightly, closing his eyes and letting the meagre heat wash over him. He passed a hand over his face, attempting to stave off the tiredness that had been lingering at the edge of his mind.

“I can feel you shivering,” Corvo said, by way of explanation. Garrett hadn’t noticed it until Corvo had said, and inched closer to the fire, if only to stop his shoulders from shaking. “Wait here a moment.”

Opening his eyes again, Garrett watched as Corvo moved over to a small group of survivors. They were afraid, he saw – one shrank back as Corvo grew close to them, while another lifted a piece of piping from the floor.

Thankfully, it didn’t seem to amount to anything, as Corvo spoke to them in hushed tones, at one point gesturing to Garrett. After several moments of deliberation, some sort of agreement was apparently reached, and two of the group moved away, clearly looking for something. Whatever it was, Garrett decided, it had to be important, if Corvo was willing to stop for it.

He stretched his hands out over the fire, examining them in the poor light. Blood encrusted the left one, he noticed, but didn’t get to continue his examination as something soft and heavy was draped around his shoulders.

“We stopped… for this?” Garrett asked, tugging at the material of the blanket. It _was_ better, he supposed, wrapping it around his shoulders. He missed his cloak, but that was stashed somewhere within the Flooded District, and there was no way he would be able to go back for it.

“Yes,” Corvo said shortly, pulling over another chair and sitting down. “Here,” he added, holding out something in his hand. “Eat this.”

“Is- is this _rat?”_ Garrett asked, inspecting the skewer of charred… _something._

“Yes,” Corvo said again. “I didn’t think you’d want the jellied eel.”

Said eel came out of a tin, Garrett saw, and _stank._ He wrinkled his nose, inspecting the rat again before pulling his scarf down taking a tentative bite. He’d eaten rat before, the _rat_ wasn’t the problem. The problem was, rats in the city of Dunwall had a certain reputation for carrying plague.

“I suppose I should be thankful it’s not raw,” he said, after a moment, slowly chewing the meat. It was warm, and he could feel it slowly bringing energy and warmth to his limbs. He couldn’t remember the last time he ate.

“I once ate raw rat,” Corvo said around a mouthful of eel. He’d lifted his mask slightly, and was sitting hunched over, to cast the majority of his face into shadow. “Didn’t want to, but feeding times in prison were rather… lax, when it came to me.”

“How did you skin it?” Garrett asked, taking another bite. “Surely you weren’t allowed sharp objects in prison.”

“I didn’t.”

It took Garrett a few moments to understand what Corvo meant, before he pulled a face.

“That’s disgusting,” he said simply, and Corvo chuckled, finishing the last of his eel.

“It did keep the rest of the rats away, afterward,” he said.

“Yes, well, I think I’ll assert my dominance over rats in some other fashion,” Garrett replied.

They were silent, after that, Garrett slowly chewing his (very much cooked) rat, Corvo simply watching the embers of the fire.

“When-“ Corvo began, before cutting himself off. Garrett looked up, raising an eyebrow, wordlessly inviting Corvo to finish his question.

“When you lost Erin, or you thought you did-“ Corvo tried again. “When you found out she _wasn’t_ dead _,_ and you had to rescue her-“

He fell silent again. Garrett could see he was having trouble forming the words to his question, but he thought he understood the meaning.

“How did I carry on?” he asked, discarding his skewer. “Or, rather, how did I find the strength to carry on, knowing that I would be going up against people greater than me? That I could easily lose, and lose everything with it?”

Corvo didn’t speak, but he nodded shortly. Garrett, for his part, shrugged his good shoulder.

“I don’t have any sound advice to give you,” he said slowly. “I carried on because I _had_ to. If I didn’t help Erin, help the city, then who would? I was mixed up in things far greater than myself, and I knew it, but I _had_ to carry on.”

He thought back to that night in the ruined cathedral, to the long journey in the darkened tunnels beneath it, and the final, terrible fate of Orion.

“Emily isn’t like Erin,” he said eventually. “Erin was- she was hurt, but she was also vengeful, that night. Unstable, and too angry at what had been done to her. She was also _alone._ I wasn’t the figure she’d hoped me to be, I wasn’t the _person_ she wanted me to be. But _you,”_ he continued, “you’re not me. Emily needs you, more than Erin needed me. You doubt that you’ll get through this without losing _something_ along the way. You might. You might not. But I know that _not trying_ is worse than failing. You _have_ to carry on, simply because at the end of this there’s a little girl who needs you to.”

He fell silent again, tugging the blanket around him further. He wasn’t prone to speeches of comfort, or grandiose words – that was more the Queen of Beggars’ territory than his. He supposed there was no harm in taking a leaf out of her book once in a while. She’d probably approve.

Corvo didn’t reply, and for a few minutes they simply sat in silence, listening to the trickling of water in the sewer, and the murmur of the civilians nearby.

“She’s alive, Corvo,” Garrett said, closing his eyes again. “You know she’s alive. That’s more than I ever had.”

He didn’t comment on the hand that briefly squeezed his forearm, but the comfort he found in it was something he didn’t feel often. They were silent for a few moments more, before Corvo moved, standing up.

“We should move on,” he said, and Garrett opened his eyes once more, shrugging off the blanket. He missed it almost instantly, but it was too large and cumbersome for him to bring with him.

He stood, slowly, putting all of his weight on his right leg as Corvo returned the blanket. Then, they resumed their position from before, Garrett leaning his weight into Corvo, with his arm tightly wrapped around his waist.

“Come on then, Rat King,” he said, smirking slightly as he pulled his mask up.

“I’m going to regret telling you that story,” Corvo muttered, covering his own face again. “I don’t think it’s much farther now,” he added, as they slowly began to move to the far end of the inhabited area of the sewer.

They were met with a brightly lit tunnel that had been boarded up in several places; Corvo was able to remove them with several powerful kicks (Garrett leaned on the wall nearby, watching).

“Do you smell that?” he asked, breathing in deeply. “The air tastes cleaner. We must be almost out.”

“Finally,” Corvo muttered, as they entered a large, square room filled with water. The catwalk had fallen away at somepoint, but Corvo simply transported them over the gap, before prising away more wood.

“Why do they board it up?” Garrett wondered aloud, “it’s not like it stops anything getting in or out.”

Corvo shrugged. “Maybe it’s just to give the residents peace of mind.”

“Anything to appease the rich,” Garrett agreed.

They appeared to be in some kind of maintenance tunnel again – metal catwalks stretched above the water – but it was clear they had long fallen into disuse. A part of the catwalk had fallen away here, too, and in the distance Garrett saw a collapsed set of stairs.

“Look,” he pointed above the stairs. “I think that’s an exit.”

“Shouldn’t be too far from here,” Corvo said, adjusting his grip on Garrett’s waist slightly. “If I remember where this part of the sewer comes out, it’s near to the apartments across the road from the Hound Pits.”

“One of the serving girls in the pub had a key for one of them,” Garrett recalled. “She told me, something about it being a safehouse if things go wrong- Cecelia?” he wondered, trying to picture the girl. She was a servant, but one that was frowned upon by other servants – he remembered Pendleton’s lackey chastising her for something minimal. He’d not interacted with her much – she’d only told him about the key in passing, perhaps she’d thought sharing the secret with _him_ had been a good idea.

“Let’s hope she made it out,” Corvo said; Garrett could detect the note of worry in his tone.

The air outside the sewer was cleaner, but colder – Garrett shivered a little as a brezze blew past them. They’d spent an entire night in the sewer, as far as he could tell – the sun was only now starting to emerge over the tops of the buildings around them.

“Over here,” Corvo said, pulling them to a grey door set into the wall.

The door was locked, of course. Garrett had to surpress a laugh. “Makes sense, that she’d lock the door to her safehouse.”

Corvo didn’t speak, instead he raised his leg and dealt the door a hefty kick. It creaked slightly, the old wooden frame cracking, and a second kick sent it swinging open to crash against the wall.

The occupant of the building – who Garrett saw _was_ Cecelia – shrieked as the door came inwards, before covering her mouth with her hands when Garrett and Corvo stepped inside.

“Please, no!” she cried, falling against the wall, before recognising the masked figures standing in the hallway.

“Oh, thank the stars! It’s you, Corvo. And Garrett. We all thought you’d been killed!”

“Not yet,” Garrett murmured, shifting his weight slightly.

“Samuel was _sure_ you were alive,” Cecelia continued. “I saw him on the river shortly before the killing began-“

“The _killing?”_ Corvo interjected, and Garrett failed entirely to supress a bitter laugh.

“Can’t stage a coup without it,” he said.

Cecelia nodded. “Samuel was smart enough to not come ashore; I bet he’s still out there. Looking for you two, I guess.”

“What happened?” Corvo asked, “After we… _left_.”

An interesting choice of words, Garrett thought, but didn’t speak.

Cecelia shifted on her feet, looking down at them.

“Pendleton said it was time for our bonus. Havelock stood behind them, and at the signal shot them each in the back of the head, just like the target drills he used to-“

She broke off suddenly, and Garrett had time to recall the day he’d first met Havelock and Pendleton, less than a week ago. They’d been shooting bottles, then; Havelock had shown himself to be a fairly good marksman.

“Lydia barely had time to scream,” Cecelia added, softer. “I would be dead too, except Wallace told me I wouldn’t be getting anything.”

_Was it to save her, or was it simply because he disliked her?_ Erin’s voice wondered.

“Shouldn’t _you_ know that?” Garrett muttered quietly, although the words were caught by Corvo. He didn’t comment, however, letting Cecelia continue.

“Pendleton kept apologising, saying that no-one could ever know about the things they’d done. Martin was drinking and seemed sad.”

_Perhaps because he lost a man more interesting than the Outsider, in his mind,_ Erin whispered.

_Me?_ Garrett asked silently, remembering to keep his mouth shut this time.

_An Overseer deals with the Outsider’s heresy on a daily basis. You were new, different, and maybe even something he could have used against the Outsider, all to gain more power for himself. Teague Martin has been a soldier, a highway robber, and a man of faith. Aspiring to more than that is not beyond him._

Garrett’s mouth twisted slightly at her words. He turned his attention back to Cecelia.

“The Admiral was about to shoot Callista,” she was saying, “but he mumbled something about owing her uncle, Captain Curnow, a debt. They said it was time for Sokolov and went off to his cage. I don’t know what happened after that.”

“Sokolov?” Corvo asked. “They went to _kill_ him? Are they mad?”

“Thought we’d established that, yes, they were,” Garrett answered.

“They started to worry that they’d get executed for what they’d done,” Cecelia said, leading the way up the stairs. At this point, Corvo was essentially dragging Garrett with him; his legs were not responding at all anymore. “I suppose that’s why they poisoned you, too,” she added, looking to Corvo.

Cecelia, it was turning out, was far shrewder than anyone had given her credit for. It was always the same, Garrett had noticed, the more insignificant the person, the more street-smart they were.

“I thought Lydia would squeal on me, at the end,” Cecelia continued, tone become sad once more. “She just told Havelock to screw himself, and died.”

“Lydia was the only one to ever show me kindness,” Cecelia added, as they reached the top of the stairs. She led them into a hallway, where Garrett could see two rooms made into a makeshift hideout of sorts, and a door that clearly led to the street outside. They passed the door for now, heading into the farthest room with a window that overlooked the street.

“Do you feel that?” Garrett asked suddenly, frowning. Faintly, reverberating through his feet, he could feel some sort of vibration. Rhythmic, pounding, and in time with a man’s footsteps. Garrett peered at the wall that faced the street, activating the Eye, confirming his suspicions.

“Tallboys,” he said. “I can see one, but as you said, they’re probably not alone. A lot of guards, too. The place is likely to be crawling with them.”

There was a chair with a sheet covering it in the centre of the room; Corvo slowly lowered Garrett into it, before stepping to the window.

“I can see two Tallboys,” he reported. “But you’re right about the amount of guards. They’re not going to be easy to get by.”

“What’s the plan?” Garrett asked, attempting to haul himself upright, but immediately regretting it when pain lanced up his leg.

“You’re going to stay here with Cecelia,” Corvo began.

Garrett would have protested, but he saw the logic in it. There was no point in kidding himself anymore, he was next-to-useless right now. He couldn’t fire a bow, couldn’t move quietly – _couldn’t move at all._ His hands were shaking, and he wasn’t sure if it was from cold or something else. Moving up a single flight of stairs had caused him to break into a sweat.

“Fine,” he allowed. “But what are _you_ going to do? You can’t exactly charge in and ask a guardsman where Havelock and the others have gone.”

“I was going to see if Piero or Sokolov are still alive, or if I can find any sign of them. If I can’t, then I’ll look for a sign to see where Havelock and the others have gone. They _must_ have left orders for the men here. Cecelia,” Corvo said suddenly, turning to the woman, who was stood by the window. “You said they left Callista alive. What happened to her?”

“I- I don’t know,” Cecelia answered, somewhat nervously, tugging at her sleeves. “She might have hidden in the tower. That’s where I would have hidden.”

“It’s difficult to get to, and presumably she has a key,” Garrett agreed.

“She might know what happened to the others,” Corvo said. He drew his crossbow, checking the ammunition, before drawing his sword.

“Cecelia,” he said, “I need a word, in private.”

They stepped into the hallway, leaving Garrett alone in the room. He didn’t need to know they were talking about him, it was obvious. He’d seen Corvo’s worry growing every since they’d left Slackjaw and whatever remained of Granny Rags. The fact he’d been willing to make a stop made Garrett wonder how bad his injuries actually were. He’d not really looked at them, after all. They’d _felt_ bad enough.

It was Cecelia who entered, alone.

“Corvo left,” she told him, and Garrett nodded his assent, shifting his position slightly.

They were silent for a few minutes, Cecelia watching the street through the window. Garrett followed Corvo’s progress for a while, but soon he fell out of his enhanced sight’s reach. He hadn’t alerted any of the tallboys, though, which was good, he supposed.

“How is it you survived?” he asked suddenly, looking up to Cecelia. “Why didn’t Havelock send people to find you – you could bring his entire operation down around him.”

“I- I don’t think Havelock knew I existed,” Cecelia said, somewhat sadly. Garrett huffed a breath through his nose, looking away. That made sense, he supposed.

“It’s a useful skill,” he commented. “To be unnoticed. It’s one I usually like to use, but, well-“ he lifted his arm slightly, wincing with the effort, “ –it didn’t work too well for me today.”

“The others would talk about you, when you were gone,” Cecelia told him. “Wallace said that Corvo told the others you were from Serkonos, but nobody believed it. He said that Martin knew more about you, but he wouldn’t tell anyone. Once, I listened, outside the place they were keeping Sokolov, and Havelock and Martin were questioning him about you, or about something you’d said.”

“What did they ask?”

“I- I don’t-“ she faltered, looking away again. “I didn’t understand much. Something about a stone, and why you would want it. They wanted to know how it worked, I think.”

Garrett swore under his breath. “Fools,” he spat. “They have no idea what they’re meddling with. I-“

He attempted to stand, not entirely sure what he was planning to do, but he’d long ago reached the end of his tether concerning Havelock and the Loyalists. To find out they had plans for the stone? To _use_ it? The situation was more dire than he’d originally thought.

He gripped the armrest of the chair, and attempted to take a step-

_It’s happening,_ her voice whispered suddenly, startling him. _Are you ready?_

Garrett had a single moment to process Erin’s words, before his mind shattered. Blinding blue light filled his vision, pierced his brain, lanced through his mind and _soul._ Whatever plans he’d had were gone in an instant, replaced with pain and bright blue light.

_“Is it working?”_

A voice he knew – recognised – couldn’t name, couldn’t form the thoughts to name – _wrong, bad, wrong-_

The stone in his eye was reacting to _something,_ something bad, and he didn’t know what. The sense of _wrong_ he’d been feeling for the entire night suddenly found a place; it rooted itself in his stomach and his mind.

He’d fallen onto his left shoulder, but any pain he felt from that was gone, replaced with _this,_ bright blue and searing every fibre of his being. He might have shouted, or even screamed, but he didn’t know. All he knew were the flashses of blue, and _something_ else in between. A building, a _man,_ and a bright blue light.

_“Sokolov better have been telling the truth. This could be the start of a new era for our city.”_

_What have you done?_

He dimly registered hands on his arms – Cecelia, _scared, afraid-_ “What do I do?”

He reached out, attempting to grab onto something, found her arm. His free hand curled up over his face, and he tried to make himself as small as possible, _anything to stop this, please._

“Tell- tell Corvo it’s started. They- they- _used_ it,” he managed. “It’s all going to fall into the Void.”

If Cecelia said something after that, he didn’t know, as the blue finally overtook his vision entirely, and – mercifully – darkness followed it.

                                                                       

* * *

 

“Amazing, simply amazing! It functioned beyond my greatest expectations.”

Hauling himself upright, Corvo shook his head, attempting to stop his ears from ringing. Perhaps he should have made more of an attempt to hide when the pylon had released its charge. Even so, it had certainly been impressive to watch; and a quick check over the side of the roof revealed every guard to be laid flat out, relatively unharmed, but unconscious.

“It defies description!” Piero continued – he and Sokolov had ignored Corvo ver since joining him on the roof, instead extolling the virtues of their collaboration. “A device like this will ensure Dunwall’s security for a century!”

Sokolov nodded his agreement, before he peered down the street, past Corvo.

“I say- who- who’s _that?”_

Corvo turned, but the figure he saw was not the one he expected to see. It was Cecelia, running down the street as fast as she could.

_Garrett._

Corvo moved quickly, using the rudimentary catwalks on the side of the building to get himself to street level.

“Corvo!” Cecelia called, “I- I came as soon as I saw the coast was clear-“

“What happened?”

“I don’t know! I was watching him, like you told me to, and he seemed fine. We were talking, and Garrett said something about Havelock being a fool, and then- then-“ She wrung her hands, apparently trying to find the right words. “It was like something came over him – he fell over and was _screaming_ in pain- I thought the guards were going to find us – and he was holding onto his head like it was about to split wide open! He said that it had started, that everything was going to fall into the Void, I- and then- then he passed out. He won’t wake up, and I think his shoulder is starting to bleed again- he fell on it.”

“Go back to him,” Corvo told her. “I’ll follow in a moment.”

Cecelia nodded breathlessly, turning and sprinting back up the street. When she turned away, he transported himself to the rooftop, ignoring the surprised outbursts from Sokolov and Piero.

“I need your help,” he said, cutting off any sort of question. “It’s Garrett. And it’s bad.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *dramatic music*
> 
> I'll admit, I loved having Garrett interact with Daud and the Whalers. They're such a great bunch.  
> If you felt the fight scene fell flat, I don't really know what to say. It's probably quite boring to an outside viewer, what with all the time-stopping.  
> Shoutout to Whaler Geoff (he's actually real, you can summon him as Daud in the DLC. All the named Whalers are named Whalers from the DLC). But seriously, Whaler Geoff just makes me laugh a lot for some reason.
> 
> Garrett's day isn't getting any better, is it? Hopefully it will for the next chapter (huehuehueh).
> 
> Speaking of the next chapter, I'm not certain on the next update. I'm going to France for a week soon so I'll be laptop-free there, and I'm also redecorating my room, so... You know me and my updates, they may be slow, they may never seem like they're gonna happen, but they will. Have faith, my friends.
> 
> Also, in a somewhat vain manner, I made a fanmix for this fic! I would love it if you all checked it out :D [Click here!](http://8tracks.com/caketin/ravens-and-magpies)
> 
> We're soon reaching the end. Are you ready?


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’re going to open the door,” he said quietly, “and I’m going to shoot the abomination.”  
> “What if it attracts more?” Corvo hissed.  
> “Then we quickly shut the door, lock it, and hope there’s another way in,” Garrett said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> >kicks your door in
> 
> IM BACK, BITCHES.
> 
> Holy cow, I did not expect the length of time to be this long. I'm so sorry. Thank you all so much for your kind words and patience.  
> Long story short: Third year of university happened. Dissertation happened. As much as I would have loved to have shared my thesis on Pseudo-Callisthenes' "Alexander Romance" and its relationship to ancient Egyptian kingship with you, I don't think it would have fit with this story, haha. Hit me up on tumblr if you wanna know more about that, maybe.
> 
> The thanks for this chapter go to Lark and Taffer; tumblr users cometoruin and sneaky-taffer, respectively.
> 
> Also it's 2:16am and I literally just finished the chapter. Didn't want to make you wait any longer; I apologise for any errors.

_Every time I leave this man alone, he gets himself into even bigger messes._

Currently, Corvo was sprinting down the street outside the Hound Pits, an unconscious Garrett in his arms. Next to him, Cecelia did her best to keep up, carrying Garrett’s bow and quiver. The bow still needed restringing, he noticed absently.

Cecelia hadn’t been sure what had caused Garrett to black out, but at face value it sounded similar to when Garrett had first arrived at the Hound Pits. A pain in the right side of his head. Except, this time, Corvo didn’t think it was the Outsider’s doing. And that first time hadn’t been as bad as what Cecelia had reported.

Sokolov met them outside the door to Piero’s workshop, near the crumpled stilts of a former Tallboy.

“We need a place that’s secure for you to treat him,” Corvo said, as Sokolov started to inspect the limp figure in his arms.

“What about the tower?” Cecelia asked. “Callista’s still in there, I think – but there are beds and it’s a good place to watch the street and the river-“

“It’s also difficult to get to,” Corvo finished for her. “Good thinking.”

“Getting _him_ up there is going to be difficult,” Sokolov said. Corvo took a moment to look down at Garrett. He looked somewhat peaceful, for the moment, but Corvo could feel warm blood dripping down from his shoulder and running across his hands, and Corvo could also see that his face wasn’t completely relaxed. Somewhere, inside, he was still hurting.

“I’ll get him there,” Corvo said. “Where’s Piero?”

“He said something about the Admiral having a field medical kit. It is my understanding that while Piero had _some_ supplies for if and when you came back here, injured, he might not have enough for the severity of Garrett’s injuries.”

“Let’s hope Havelock was too busy to take it, then,” Corvo murmured, before looking up to the rooftop of Piero’s workshop. It was going to take a while to get everyone up there safely.

“He was, thankfully,” Piero’s voice echoed from the bar interior. He emerged, a small case in one hand a bottle of liquor in the other. “We don’t have any medicinal alcohol,” he said, by way of explanation.

“Perfect,” Corvo muttered, sighing inwardly – he was about to regret his next words. “Everyone grab onto me.”

Somewhat unsurprisingly, Cecelia was the only one who did as first asked, reaching up and grasping the material of his coat.

“I won’t say it again,” Corvo said, fixing the natural philosophers with something like a stern look before they could interrupt or question him. “This will be quicker for all of us.”

Sokolov was the first to move, placing a hand onto his shoulder, while Piero held onto the other. Both had dubious looks on their faces.

“No questions,” he repeated his words from earlier. “At least, not yet.”

He was already regretting his snap decision, but he pushed it from his mind when Garrett twitched in his arms. He adjusted his grip slightly, lifting his left hand up and looking to the roof of the workshop.

Transporting five people wasn’t like transporting one, or two, Corvo suddenly found. He managed it – just – but at the cost of his head suddenly feeling like it was about to split open, and a wave of nausea rising in his stomach.

“Outsider’s eyes!” he heard Sokolov exclaim, while Cecelia opted to shriek and nearly pivot off the rooftop – a quick grab from Piero stopped her.

“Something like that,” he said in response, legs buckling slightly. He managed to keep himself upright, and headed along the metal walkway to the tower door, to the place Emily had resided during their time here.

_Emily banged her head in the confusion. They dragged her crying into the waiting boat. She called your name._

“Not the time,” he muttered vehemently, one small part of him almost laughing. He was talking to himself now. Perhaps he’d taken a leaf out of Garrett’s book, although he wasn’t certain whether the man had talked to himself or the voice of Erin in his head.

The others had recovered enough to group behind him at the door, and he gently knocked it with his foot.

“Callista,” he called. “It’s me, Corvo. Open the door.”

A crash from inside; clearly she hadn’t been expecting _his_ voice to be the one calling to her. The door opened sharply, revealing a worried, surprised Callista.

“Corvo!” she exclaimed, “I can’t believe you’re alive! They killed everyone else-“

“Not quite,” Corvo cut her off, stepping inside and placing Garrett down on one of the beds, attempting to ignore the twinge in his stomach at the fact Emily wasn’t there.

“Help me get his things off,” Sokolov said, almost shoving Callista aside in his haste to get next to the bed. “We need to move quickly. Corvo, I need you to tell me exactly what happened.”

As they worked, Corvo did his best to describe what had happened to Garrett.

“I didn’t see it all, not clearly,” he said. “He took the crossbow bolt to the leg, first, and then received a sword to the shoulder. Then he fell into water – and it wasn’t clean water, either.”

“How soon after did he receive treatment, if any?”

“That I don’t know,” Corvo replied. “The Whalers took him away.”

Behind him, he heard Piero mutter an expletive, something between fear and awe in his tone.

“By the time I got there they’d bandaged him, but I think that’s all they did,” Corvo pressed on, ignoring the wide-eyed stares of Callista and Cecelia. “When we were relatively safe, I took a look, but I’m no expert. Garrett could still move, and that was all that was important,” he shrugged. “We didn’t have time to stop.”

“It looks as though he’s been pulling on his shoulder a lot,” Sokolov said, as they finally removed the last of the leathers, revealing the wounds in their entirety.

“Like I said,” Corvo replied. “We didn’t have time to stop. And our route back here wasn’t exactly… peril free,” he finished, quietly.

Corvo had seen a lot of wounded people in his time. A lot of dead and dying people. He’d gotten used to it, gotten used to pushing out the sight and purging it from memory, so he could sleep better. The _smell,_ however, was something he could never truly forget. A rusty, copper-filled tang haunted the darker edges of Corvo’s mind, reminding him of times he’d rather not relive; a friend who’d lost a knife fight on the streets of Karnaca; the final fight of the Blade Verbena; the first time he’d had to defend the Empress; and _the last._

It was a constant in the ever-present fight for his life and his place in the world, filled with the clash of swords and the firing of pistols, and at the end of it all, blood spilling onto the streets. And now one of his only friends (friends? Were they even that?) had fallen foul of the same thing that had plagued his life ever since he’d been young.

Was he cursed? Was it a game of the Outsider’s? Push him until he broke, until his life was filled with nothing but the scent of copper and the roar of the Void and the taste of death on his tongue?

_No,_ he decided. _Not unless I let it break me._

Cecelia was talking, probably telling Sokolov and Piero what happened to Garrett while Corvo had been taking care of the guards stationed at the pub. He didn’t pay her much attention.

From here, Corvo could see that Garrett’s shoulder wound was fairly deep. The thin cotton shirt Garrett had worn under his leathers was stained a dark red almost completely on the left side. The blood stretched all the way down his left arm, too. When the shirt was removed, Corvo saw that these were not the first wounds Garrett had received. Corvo could see several scars across the man’s upper body, although he didn’t have time to wonder where the thief had gotten them.

“There’s a bolt still embedded in his leg,” Sokolov drew his attention. “Whoever treated him snapped it so he could bandage him, but did not remove the whole shaft.”

“Is that… safe?” Cecelia asked, peering curiously over Corvo’s shoulder. He almost jumped, having momentarily forgotten that she and Callista were still there.

“It is better than pulling the entire thing out,” Piero said. “If not done properly, it can cause a lot of damage, or even leave the arrowhead still inside the wound. With the shaft in place, we have a better chance of getting it out in one piece and with minimal damage.”

The crossbow wound looked _worse_ than the shoulder one – it was slowly oozing blood and Corvo knew it must have caused Garrett no small amount of pain when he walked on it. He hadn’t complained once, though, not even when they were near the end of their journey through the sewers, and Garrett had been flagging considerably.

“He’ll walk again,” Sokolov reported. “Providing we have adequate space and time to work. You three-“ he flapped a hand at Corvo, Cecelia, and Callista. “Leave. Wait, you-“ he pointed to Callista. “Stay. But you two, get out.”

Corvo was about to protest, but Piero raised a hand. “Perhaps you can find a place to put all the guardsmen we incapacitated. Master Sokolov and I never worked out how long the arc pylon’s effect would last, after all. It would be… _unfortunate,_ if they woke while we were still here.”

Corvo could see the sense in that, he supposed, but it didn’t mean he was exactly _happy_ at being told to leave.

“Corvo?” Cecelia tugged at his sleeve slightly, and he allowed himself to be pulled outside the door, where it closed behind him with a resounding bang. He stared at it for a moment, somewhat at a loss for words.

“I think they just wanted you to leave so you wouldn’t look sadder,” Cecelia told him.

Corvo frowned, turning to face her. “What?”

“You looked really sad,” Cecelia continued, nervously looking down. “I don’t know what happened, but I’m sure it wasn’t your fault. Garrett seems like a person who always gets himself into trouble.”

Although some part of him silently agreed, Corvo didn’t say anything, instead he cast his eye at the small pile of guards in the main courtyard behind the Hound Pits.

In the centre of the yard, lay two wrapped corpses. Descending to ground level, Corvo slowly moved over to them, Cecelia trailing behind him.

“Lydia and Wallace?” he asked, although he already knew the answer. He saw Cecelia nod out of the corner of his eye, and crouched for a moment next to the bodies.

“Do you think the Outsider takes their souls, after they die?” Cecelia asked quietly, voice barely above a whisper.

“I don’t know,” Corvo answered honestly. For such a vast place, the Void had seemed far too empty for what Cecelia was suggesting.

“I hope they’re somewhere nice,” Cecelia said. Corvo silently agreed.

“I’ll need you to go inside the pub and count how many guards are in there,” he said eventually, standing up again and turning back to Piero’s workshop. “And see if you can find anything that’ll tell us where the Admiral took Emily.”

Cecelia nodded – a quick, jerking motion – before dashing across the courtyard, away from the corpses, and into the pub. Corvo, meanwhile, had to settle himself with working out how to extract a guard from a Tallboy suit. It was a miracle the tank hadn’t exploded, honestly.

After gingerly deposting the tank by the workshop door, he set about undoing the straps that secured the guard to the metal contraption. Thankfully, the guard was mainly unharmed, and Corvo secured the man on his shoulder, walking across the yard to the kennels where they’d previously kept Sokolov, steadfastedly ignoring the two shrouded bodies in the yard’s centre. There was nothing he could do for them. The door was unlocked (he briefly wondered how Sokolov had gotten out), and the cage door was open too.

Soon enough, Corvo had deposited a small pile of guards inside the cage. He stood outside for a moment, taking a short breather, as Cecelia came running up to him.

“There are six guards inside the pub,” she reported. “Four of them are upstairs. There was this note on the bar-“ she handed Corvo a sheet of paper, “and another upstairs but- I left that one. I think you need to see that one for yourself.”

Corvo quickly scanned the note, he recognised Havelock’s handwriting.

_Captain Manning._

_We’ve tracked the conspiracy to the Hound Pits Pub. Search the premises for the natural philosophers Piero Joplin and Anton Sokolov. Do what you must to secure all materials related to the enhanced arc pylon they have been constructing. Question them thoroughly, and once you are certain you have everything they know of the pylon, execute them both. Bring the pylon to me, along with their papers and recordings._

_They may be two of the greatest minds of our age, but they’re also traitors who conspired with Corvo to bring down this Empire._

_I’m keeping Empress Emily Kaldwin with me at the Lighthouse on Kingsparrow Island until we’re certain that Corvo and his fellow conspirators have been properly dealt with._

_-Lord Regent Havelock_

Corvo wasn’t surprised by the message. In executing Piero and Sokolov, Havelock would be able to remove any credibility Corvo could gain in telling the city he was betrayed. Again.

He wondered what the second note said, as he quickly made his way through the pub, confirming Cecelia’s count. Two guards on the ground floor, slumped by the bar; another four on the top floor, in what had previously been his chambers. He recalled there were two other guards outside the pub itself, in the street – they’d been talking about him when he’d first made his way into the street outside the apartments he’d left Cecelia and Garrett in.

He soon discovered why Cecelia hadn’t felt like she could bring the other note to him. _Collage_ would be a more accurate word for what was waiting for him. To put it simply, it was _him,_ adorning many sheets of paper, drawn in the simplistic style that only a child possessed, a smiling face looking back at him. He wondered how long Emily had been working on it. He wasn’t even sure the last time he’d even smiled. There was a note on the table beside it, next to his upturned bed.

_Corvo,_ it read, in Emily’s handwriting,

_Remember before when I mentioned a special drawing I was working on for you? This is it._

Corvo attempted to swallow the lump in his throat, sparing another look at the drawing plastered to the wall.

_I don’t know where you went, but I hope when you get back you see this and like it. I’d like to take it to Dunwall Tower with us. Everyone’s acting strange tonight. Garrett went away somewhere. Samuel was whispering to Callista about a flare launcher that she was supposed to use to call him. He told her to lock the door to my old tower. I heard the Admiral tell the others we are leaving tonight for a place called The Lighthouse on Kingsparrow Island. I hope you get back before then._

_-Emily._

She would make a good Empress, Corvo reasoned, but in another walk of life she would probably make a fine spy, too.

_The Lighthouse._

He’d heard of Kingsparrow Island – it was at the mouth of the Wrenhaven, and Jessamine had been aware of its significance in terms of defending the city. A lighthouse must have been a new addition, though. He’d never been aware of one. Both letters had confirmed the same location, and if Corvo had the presence of mind to keep one of the guards awake, said guard probably would have told them the same.

This Lighthouse had to be the same one that Garrett had read in the former Lord Regent’s notes.

And Emily, he saw, had revealed to him a way to contact Samuel. He’d noticed the flare launcher in the tower, mounted on the windowsill that faced the river, but he’d been more preoccupied in taking care of Garrett at the time to wonder what it was for.

He stood for a few more moments, simply staring at the picture that adorned the wall, before crumpling Emily’s note and putting it into his pocket. It wouldn’t do to dwell on her, not now. He had things to attend to.

He made his way towards the crumpled forms of the guards, but stopped when a glimmer caught his eye. Crouching down, the source revealed itself to be the small whale statuette Garrett had picked up at the art dealer’s apartment a few days previous. It felt like eons ago, now. He wasn’t even sure if, back then, Garrett had even fully considered himself the kind of person to run full pelt into assassin-held territory to save another person’s life. He’d been mostly content with providing nominal help and pilfering what rewards he saw fit.

One of the statue’s gemstoned eyes had fallen out – the right one. Corvo smiled at the irony, before placing the statuette in his pocket, too.

Eventually, he and Cecelia had located all the guards, and he’d deposited them within the cage. Their weapons, he’d piled on a table outside, so they didn’t hurt themselves with them while in the cage. He wasn’t sure how they’d react once the pylon’s effects wore off.

“Take these,” he said, handing Cecelia a small bundle of the best weapons he’d found.

Locking the door to the kennels proved to be somewhat problematic; eventually he resorted to wedging it closed with a piece of nearby piping. Hopefully they would be gone soon, anyway.

The sun was higher in the sky now, it had taken over an hour to search the Hound Pits for guards and then move them to the kennels. Corvo transported them to the roof of Piero’s workshop again, not bothering to wonder if it was a bad idea to show off his Outsider-given gifts.

Piero was stood outside the door to the tower, he merely raised an eyebrow when Corvo and Cecelia appeared before him.

“How’s Garrett?” Corvo asked.

“Doing well, I believe,” Piero replied. “We were able to extract the bolt and stop the bleeding, and as far as we can tell there are no signs of infection. Master Sokolov was just finishing the stitches when I stepped out here. Was your task equally as successful?” he asked.

Corvo nodded in response, stepping past the man to enter into the cool interior of the tower. Garrett was stretched out on the bed; pale, unmoving, and covered in a blanket. Corvo could see a bandage covering his shoulder, no doubt there were more underneath the blanket. Callista and Sokolov were seated at the table by the window, and Corvo saw the flare launcher perched on the sill.

“Samuel gave you that?” he asked Callista, indicating the launcher. She nodded in affirmative, looking up from her sewing for a moment.

“He’s waiting somewhere on the river for your signal,” she told him.

“For _my_ signal?” Corvo asked, raising an eyebrow.

“We all knew you’d come back, Corvo,” Sokolov answered for her. “Especially after what the Admiral did.”

Corvo didn’t speak, he simply turned away and reached into his pocket, placing the broken whale statuette onto the table by Garrett’s sleeping form.

“You should rest, too,” Sokolov said. “You’re practically dead on your feet. Garrett here isn’t going to wake up for a while – we have the time.”

Corvo opened his mouth to argue, but found he didn’t really have anything to argue against. Sokolov was right. Garrett needed time to rest and heal, and Samuel would be far better staying out on the river in case things went wrong at the pub. So, Corvo sat down on the spare bed – Emily’s bed, he noticed with a twinge in his gut – and removed his coat and weaponry, throwing it into a nearby chair.

“Wake me when he wakes,” he said simply, before settling back on the bed, finding sleep coming to him a lot easier than he would have believed.

                                                                         

* * *

 

Corvo awoke slowly, the quiet murmur of voices pulling him from the deep slumber he’d fallen into. Mind somewhat unwilling, he clung to the last remnants of sleep, attuning himself to the words being spoken by the two voices.

One of them was Sokolov, he noted. The other, he slowly realised, was Garrett.

“That’s all you told them?” the latter was saying.

“For the _last time,_ yes,” Sokolov answered. “I told them all I saw in the stone, and how I saw it could potentially be harnassed to rid the city of plague and corruption. I _also_ told them it would be very dangerous to do it without testing, first, and if what you tell me is true-“

“It is,” Garrett replied, evenly. His voice was quiet, slightly rasped, but sounding better than he had been when he’d last awake.

The pair were silent for a moment, before Sokolov spoke again.

“Well, then the new Lord Regent will be _very foolish_ to try anything with it.”

There was a rustle of moment – Sokolov was leaving the room.

“Desparation turns the sanest of men into fools,” Garrett called after him. In response, the door closed with a forceful click.

There was another rustle of fabric, followed by a sigh, and then a thud. Corvo got the sense Garrett had flopped back onto his pillow.

“I know you’re awake,” he said after a moment, clearly directed at Corvo.

Corvo took that as his opportunity to open his eyes and sit up, knowing it was futile to try and cling to sleep now. They couldn’t afford any more time, anyway.

He found that they weren’t alone in the room – Callista and Cecelia were sitting on the chairs by the table, the former still sewing something while the other cleaned something else. Piero was taking up most of the table, leaning over what looked like a rather large pile of weaponry and ammunition.

“I told you to wake me when _he_ woke up,” Corvo said, nodding his head at Garrett, who had decided to sit himself up again, moving slightly gingerly and favouring his right side.

“You looked peaceful,” Callista told him. “We didn’t want to. Surely you need to be fully rested for what’s next?” she asked.

“It’s only been a few hours,” Cecelia added.

Corvo knew they meant well, but it didn’t do much to qwell the sense of urgency that now settled in his stomach. How long had it been since he’d left Emily?

“Has there been any sign from Havelock that he knows things here are… amiss?” he settled on, getting up and peering out the window across the river.

“No,” Piero said. “No announcements to the contrary, no sudden influx of reinforcements. Things have been… strangely quiet, I’ll admit. There haven’t even been loudspeaker announcements.”

Corvo frowned, but didn’t dwell on it; he turned to Garrett instead.

“How are you?” he asked.

Garrett was still slightly pale, and Corvo could see he was still in pain, but it wasn’t as bad as it looked before. He was dressed in clean bandages and a shirt that was too large for him – Corvo briefly wondered where they’d dug it up from, eyeing a stain on the shirt’s front.

“Better than before,” Garrett responded eventually. “Although my head feels like it’s been hit with a hammer.”

“What happened?” Corvo asked him. “You gave Cecelia a fright.”

At mention of her name, Cecelia ducked her head slightly. “I- I didn’t mean to cause a fuss-“

“It wasn’t your fault,” Garrett told her, before turning back to Corvo. “I- I had a _flash,_ I suppose you could say. We’re running out of time.”

He clearly didn’t want to elaborate in front of their audience.

“Well, good news,” Corvo said, “I found out where the Lighthouse is.”

“You mean the one on Kingsparrow Island?” Piero interrupted, turning around from the table, wiping his hands on a rag.

Corvo nodded his assent. “What do you know about it?” he asked.

“Not much,” Piero admitted. “The Lord Regent – Burrows, that is – was fortifying the island. No doubt he saw its strategic significance. I believe Master Sokolov was commissioned to work on some of the defences.”

“Is he nearby?” Corvo asked.

“Outside,” Garrett supplied, directing his gaze at the wall, a sour expression on his face. Whatever their discussion had been before Corvo had woken up, it clearly hadn’t sat well with him. “Listening in, no doubt.”

“I am _not,”_ came Sokolov’s voice; the door was flung open to reveal the man himself. Corvo simply raised an eyebrow at him.

“What defences did you install on Kingsparrow Island?” he asked, before the conversation could be diverted.

“The usual, boring equipment,” Sokolov shrugged. “Watchtowers, arc pylons, alarm systems, Walls of Light…” he flapped a hand. “You get the idea. I am sure most of them you’ll be able to find some way to bypass.” His gaze flickered to the mark burned onto the back of Corvo’s left hand for a moment, before coming back up to his face, an unreadable expression in the physician’s eyes.

“You could tell us where you put them, at least,” Garrett prompted.

“I am afraid I cannot. I oversaw the production of the defences, _not_ their placement. Burrows was very secretive about construction on Kingsparrow. His paranoia was starting to set in, by then.”

Garrett muttered something under his breath that that sounded like an expletive, but didn’t say more. Instead, he manoeuvred himself to the edge of his bed, swinging his legs over and testing the weight.

“Are you sure it’s… safe, to do that?” Corvo asked.

Garrett snorted. “Safe doesn’t have anything to do with it. I can tell we’ve spent too long here.”

He gingerly pushed down on the bed, and stood up, leaning most of his weight on his right leg as he did so. Corvo found himself rising too, although he held back, to let Garrett attempt to move by himself. Somewhat surprisingly, he managed it, successfully limping across to the table where Piero was stood.

Joining him, Corvo saw it was the pile of weapons he’d given to Cecelia, as well as his own and Garrett’s weaponry. There was also a partially-broken crossbow bolt.

“This came from your leg,” Piero said, picking up the bolt in question. “The design is somewhat unique,” he added. “They have an interesting shape.”

“They’re fired from wristbows,” Corvo recalled; he’d disarmed several Whalers in the Flooded District, and the bows had been difficult to remove from their wrists. He _had_ taken several bolts of ammunition and sleep darts from them, however; while unique, they had still fit his own crossbow.

“Interesting,” Piero said. “If I’d had more time, perhaps I could have fashioned one for you.”

“Think of it as a future project,” Corvo told him, watching Garrett extract his things from the pile.

“That’s either very optimistic, or the opposite,” Callista said, pausing in her sewing, causing Garrett to smirk in response.

“Where’s my- everything?” Garrett asked.

“I believe Cecelia was attempting to clean the blood off of your clothing,” Piero informed him.

“I’m almost done!” she called. “The leather was easy to clean but I don’t think I’m going to get the rest to what it was before.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Garrett told her, “I can replace most of it.”

Holding the bundle of leather and fabric Cecelia handed him, he ducked behind a small screen that was in the corner of the room.

“I cleaned your coat, too,” Cecelia said to Corvo, handing him another bundle of fabric. “It smelled like… sewage.”

“That’s Garrett’s fault,” Corvo told her. “He wore it while swimming in the Flooded District.”

“ _You_ decided to go swimming through a sewer, _twice,”_ Garrett called. “And that was after I gave the coat back.”

He emerged from behind the screen, doing up the last of the straps that secured his outfit together, and stepped to the table again. Corvo was momentarily surprised that he’d managed to get dressed so quickly – Garrett’s clothing had been _complicated._ It had taken three of them longer to undress him. Grasping his quiver, Garrett started to count the arrows inside.

“You’ve added some,” he said to Piero, who nodded in response.

“I created some to the specifications you gave me, I also was able to create a new design for you.”

He picked up an arrow that had been left lying on the table, one with a thin metal canister affixed to the end nearest the arrowhead.

“It’s filled with a compound that will blind your opponents momentarily,” he explained. “I thought it would be useful for someone in your line of work.”

“A flash bomb inside an arrow?” Garrett asked, inspecting the arrowhead closely. “How many did you make?”

“I only had the materials for this one and another two, I am afraid,” Piero said. “Use them sparingly.”

Garrett nodded in response, inspecting the arrow for a few more seconds before placing it into his quiver. He then picked up his bow, setting about restringing it. While he worked, Corvo sorted through his own weaponry, checking the mechanisms of his sword and crossbow.

“What’s this?” he asked, picking up a vial filled with a purple liquid. He held it up the light; something indistinct floated inside.

“Oh, I made that,” Garrett said, looking up from his bow for a moment. “Thought it would help out in the Flooded District. Place is a plague hive, after all.”

“What is it?”

“I mixed Sokolov’s and Piero’s elixirs,” Garrett said simply. “It seemed like a good idea at the time, until I drank it.”

Corvo suddenly found the vial snatched from his grasp by Sokolov, who examined it closely.

“You’ve had no averse effects?” he asked Garrett.

“Unless you count being shot and stabbed, no,” Garrett replied, folding his bow back up. Sokolov made a noise, holding the vial up to his eye.

“Garrett,” Callista said suddenly, standing up, “Before you put that on- I- I saw you were missing your cloak, and- and I was needing something to _do,_ so-“

In her arms she held a bundle of fabric, it looked something like a blanket. Corvo recalled she’d been sewing when he’d entered the tower a few hours previous. Shaking out the bundle, Callista revealed it was in fact a cloak, similarly styled to the one Garrett had made him hide in the Flooded District. Despite only seeing Garrett a few times, Callsita had managed to replicate Garrett’s cloak rather well, even down to the slashes in the fabric (ones Corvo had never understood, but gathered they served a purpose).

Garrett, for a few seconds, didn’t say anything. He reached out, almost hesitantly, taking the cloak from Callista, inspecting it closely. He then put it on, securing it around his shoulders.

The _shift_ was almost immediate – Corvo hadn’t realised it before but without his cloak, Garrett had appeared somewhat _lesser,_ like he was missing some part of himself. Now, with a complete outfit, he looked more like the thief he was supposed to, and less like someone pretending to be one.

“This is-“ Garrett began, running his fingers along the material of the cloak. “Unexpected,” he settled on. “Thank you,” he added, looking up at Callista, before pulling his hood up. He picked up a small knife off the table, bending and strapping it around his ankle. Corvo hadn’t even noticed it before.

“You four need to leave here,” Corvo said, before gesturing to the weapons on the table. “I collected these for you – you probably won’t need to use them but it’s better to keep up appearances.”

“I wouldn’t wear your finest clothes, either,” Garrett said. “People out there will tear you apart if they think you have money.”

Corvo raised an eyebrow, turning to look at Garrett for a moment, who looked down.

“It’s true,” he muttered. “Especially in times like this.”

“Cecelia,” Corvo said. “Do you know your way around the Old Port District?”

“I- I think so, yes,” the woman answered, ducking her head slightly.

“Good,” Corvo replied. “Take the others through the apartments you were hiding in. Near the outside will be an entrance to a sewer – there will be people down there, but they’re not hostile. You can hole up there for a while, but it will probably be safer for you to get as far away from here as possible. Keep to the sewers and the back streets.”

“Why can’t we just stay here?” Callista asked.

“For one, I don’t know how the guards will react once they break out of their cage. Better for you all to get away and hide, just in case.”

“I suppose that makes sense,” Piero said slowly.

“You’re very welcome to stay here and die,” Garrett said, reaching into his quiver and pulling out a rope arrow. For a moment, Corvo wondered what the man was going to do – he unscrewed the head, unspooling the rope that was tightly wound around the arrow. Taking out the Claw, he secured the new length of rope to it, stringing it across his stomach and looping it at his hip.

“Whalers cut the old one,” he said, noticing Corvo’s stare. “I’ve only got one rope arrow left,” he added. “Hopefully this Lighthouse isn’t too difficult to climb.”

“Are you ready to leave?” Corvo asked; Garrett nodded in response.

“As much as I would recommend rest, or at least taking it easy, I can see that it will fall on deaf ears,” Sokolov said. “Just take care to not pull your stitches out.”

Garrett nodded again.

“You should leave,” he said to the other four, “no sense in wasting time.”

As the small group left, walking along the corrugated metal to enter the Hound Pits, Corvo felt something akin to worry deep in his stomach. They were armed, it was true, but he wasn’t certain how proficient either of the natural philosophers were. Frankly, he was more confident in Cecelia’s and Callista’s abilities with the weapons.

_She is Callista Curnow. She has learned to defend herself in this treacherous city._

Whether the Heart’s statement was there to reassure him or not, Corvo couldn’t help but feel comforted by its words.

He turned away from the group, moving over to the flare launcher. It rocketed into the sky, setting off with a loud bang and a flash of light.

“Samuel left a note,” Garrett said, picking up a piece of paper that had been pinned to the launcher. He scanned it for a few seconds, before passing the paper to Corvo.

_Callista, fret not,_ it said. _I believe there is still hope for Emily and Dunwall. I don’t believe Corvo is gone, or Garrett. I’ll be searching the river for them, but if you catch wind of them, shoot up a flare from this launcher and I’ll make my way back as quickly as I can. Keep this tower locked and take care of yourself. Emily is gonna need you when this is over._

_-Samuel._

“Callista’s a good person,” Corvo said, more to fill the silence than anything else. “I think Emily likes her.”

“She is nice,” Garrett agreed, shifting slightly on his feet.

“You’re only saying that because she gave you a cloak,” Corvo replied.

“No I’m not.”

Corvo snorted, instead turning to look out across the river.

“There,” Garrett pointed at the boat that emerged from around a bend in the river.

The pair climbed down the side of the tower, moving along the shore of the river to meet the boat.

“Thought I’d find you both here,” the boatman said, as the boat drew up to shore. “Never pays to bet against either of you, does it?”

“Perhaps Havelock should have been more aware of that,” Garrett muttered, clambering into the boat, wincing slightly with the effort.

“We’ll need to be out of here soon,” Samuel said, as Corvo joined them in the boat. “The Admiral controls the military now. Martin’s High Overseer, and Pendleton’s in favour with the aristocracy and Parliament. They need Emily, of course, but if Havelock senses that it’s all about to fall down around him, who knows what hes liable to do.”

“We’re going to Kingsparrow Island,” Corvo told him. “That’s where they’ve taken Emily.”

“Then it’s one more trip across the river,” Samuel said, as the boat pulled away from shore. “To where it meets the sea. That new Lighthouse oughta be something to see.”

                                                                         

* * *

 

The sun had set below the horizon, and the rain followed it. Corvo felt the first few drops hit his face, and looked up, squinting at the darkening skies. Thunder rumbled in the distance, as the rain steadily got heavier, chilling the air and soaking Corvo’s exposed skin.

“Fitting,” Garrett muttered, bowing his head, resting his elbows on his knees to gaze into the bottom of the boat. “I bet the Sneak Thief didn’t have to deal with this.”

“Rain?” Samuel asked, apparently unperturbed by the weather.

Garrett shrugged his right shoulder. “All the stories made him sound like he worked nights when only the moon was full and the skies were clear.”

“ _That_ sounds like a fairytale,” Corvo said.

“Perhaps,” Garrett agreed. “Thieves as a rule don’t have a token god, but it doesn’t stop them praying to the Whitehanded Thief for a good night.”

“Whitehanded?” Samuel asked.

“Thieves that are caught get their hands tarred. We call them _blackhands._ The Sneak Thief was never caught – so they say – so, a _whitehand.”_

“I suppose that makes sense,” Samuel said. “Boatmen like us don’t go worshipping the fish or the whales, though.”

“I’ve seen what you do the whales,” Garrett replied, “that’s close enough.”

They were silent for a short while after, simply listening to the sound of the rain around them. Kingsparrow Island was some way down the river, around four miles from the Hound Pits, but the conditions made going slow. Fog was beginning to descend on the river, and with the rain and thunder, it only made the going slower.

“You never said,” Corvo realised, breaking the silence, “why you passed out, at the Hound Pits.”

Garrett raised his head, looking out across the river, mouth twisting as he attempted to find the right words to say.

“You recall when I said I have _flashes_ , when I’m near the Primal, or something associated with it?” he asked. Corvo nodded in response. “How much of my discussion with Sokolov did you hear?”

“Not much,” Corvo replied honestly. “The end of it.”

“While we were dealing with Lady Boyle and the Lord Regent, Havelock and Martin… _interrogated_ Sokolov. Sokolov told Havelock and the others what he saw in the stone. A solution to the plague – and to Havelock’s problems. Well, _I_ saw different – even though I _told_ him different – they clearly trusted Sokolov more than me.”

“What exactly are you saying?” Corvo asked.

“I think Havelock has attempted to use the stone,” Garrett said simply. “And I think it’s gone badly for him.”

The silence that followed stretched out between them, before Samuel cleared his throat.

“From what you’ve said about this- this _stone –_ or at least as much as I can understand it – “ he began “ – that sounds like something a very foolish person would do.”

“Or a desparate one,” Garrett countered. “When I had the vision, I also heard things. I heard _Havelock._ And, tell me – does it really surprise you to know he would do such a thing?”

“No,” Corvo said, after a moment. Havelock was a man who had spent a good deal of time balanced on a knife-edge, playing one side while simultaneously supporting another. But the other side wasn’t the most noble – for the past week Corvo had been working in some of the most underhanded ways imaginable to achieve the goals of the Loyalists. Their subsequent betrayal of him and Garrett had been unexpected, yes, but Corvo now saw that in the grand scheme of things it was simply the reaction of a man who had spent too long on said knife’s edge.

“I always thought the Admiral was an honourable man,” Samuel said. “But towards the end, things changed. Guess he and the others realised what they’d done, and whether they’d be held accountable for the things they’d done – better to pin it all on you, Corvo, and let the small fry like us die.”

“Comforting,” Corvo muttered, Garrett huffed out an amused breath.

“That’s the way it always works,” he said. “Can’t have a noble taking responsibility, after all.”

“Look,” Samuel said suddenly, pointing. “The Lighthouse.”

Peering through the fog, Corvo caught his first glimpse of Kingsparrow Island, and the Lighthouse perched upon it. The main tower stretched tall above the water, the light from the top suffusing into the fog around them. Corvo also saw the shadow of the fort itself, and several other lights mounted on high walls. Clearly a military outpost, it would likely be difficult to penetrate.

“I remember hearing the Admiral and Martin talking about this place as where they’d hole up if they had to,” Samuel said, as he piloted the boat around an outcropping of rock, revealing a small dock before them. “Anybody going in has to breach the fort and the gatehouse, and then there’s only one way to the top.”

“Only one place for them to hide, then,” Garrett said.

“Does-“ Corvo began, frowning for a moment. “Are lighthouses usually so… blue?” he asked, peering up at the tower, shrouded in fog. Beams of light emanated from the very top, but Corvo had seen a lot of lighthouses on his journey around the Isles. None of them had had a _blue_ light.

Garrett frowned, leaning forward in his seat to peer at the Lighthouse.

 “Looks awful quiet, at any rate,” Samuel said, “I woulda thought- “

Before he could say any more, a sound from the shore cut him off – a wailing shriek that echoed across the water, chilling Corvo to his core. Next to him, Garrett stiffened, eyes locking on the shore.

“Samuel,” Garrett said. “Stop the boat. Don’t put us to land.”

The man frowned, but did as he was bid, drawing the boat into a shadowed recess near the rocky outcropping.

“What is it?” Corvo asked him. Garrett, who usually regarded things with a certain disconnected apathy, was scanning the shore with furtive eyes and a clenched jaw. If Corvo didn’t know better, he would say the man was _afraid,_ that something he’d hoped against had instead come true.

“Use your optical sight. Scan the shore – _thoroughly._ Tell me what you see.”

Corvo did as asked, zooming in the sight and peering at the island.

“I don’t really see anything,” he said after a moment. He couldn’t see any movement, just the constant flashing of the light at the top of the lighthouse tower.

“Keep looking,” Garrett said, something in his voice settling uncomfortably in Corvo’s stomach.

He’d almost given up, almost turned back to Garrett and told him it was simply nerves, but a flash of movement caught his eye.

It _looked_ human, to start with. But on closer inspection, it revealed something more, something inhuman, primordial and wrong. He would have said a Weeper, but a Weeper was still recognisable as the thing it had been before. _These_ were not. Twisted and malformed, an abstract, blurred figure that hinted at humanity but showed no trace of ever remembering – or even comprehending – it.

He swallowed the bile that was rising in his throat, sitting back in the boat. His mind drawn back to that night in the Void, where he’d glimpsed the creature through the cell door. What he’d seen then had been a shadow, had been _nothing_ in comparison to what he was seeing now.

“They’re there, aren’t they?” Garrett asked.

“The _what?”_ Samuel cut in, hand resting on the tiller of the boat.

“If they have a name, I don’t know it,” Garrett said. “Freaks, abominations, monsters, they’ve all been said by those who lived to talk of them. Which, I should add, is not many.”

“So they’re _what,_ exactly?”

Garrett glanced over to the island for a moment. “The Outsider said the Primal exists for _balance._ But for balance, there have to be two opposing sides. Those people, over there?” he gestured to the shore, where Corvo was watching one of the creatures scale a rocky cliff, long fingers and toes grasping the stone. “They’re the unlucky ones, who came into contact with the part the Outsider didn’t want to be let loose. It- it _changes_ you, makes you into something irrevocably different. And there’s no way to save them. Havelock’s killed them all.”

He snuffed out a laugh of sorts – bitter, hollow, with no mirth at all. “He might have killed himself, too. _This_ is why we’ve heard nothing from the Island. He put the stone inside the light. Like an amplifier.”

“And Emily?” Corvo asked, attempting to quell the rising panic in his gut. He hadn’t come this far – _come so close to regaining it all –_ to lose at the last moment. He couldn’t. He _wouldn’t._

Garrett looked over to him, face carefully neutral. “I don’t know,” he answered. “There’s a chance she could be-“ he broke off, waving a hand at the island.

“There’s also a good chance she might not be,” Samuel broke in, starting the boat’s engine. “Only one way for you two to find out. That little girl needs you Corvo – and you, Garrett. Don’t let her down now.”

Corvo didn’t speak, instead he looked up at the approaching shore, fear and worry twisting his insides.

“We’ll find her,” Garrett said, apparently coming to some decision of his own.

The small boat was silent as Samuel piloted them to shore – there was nothing this close to the water’s edge, but it didn’t stop Garrett from keeping a careful watch on the creatures he could see, slowly dragging themselves across the rocky shore.

“Good luck, you two,” Samuel said. “If anyone deserves it, you do.”

“Don’t stay here,” Garrett said, as Corvo disembarked the vessel. “I don’t think they can swim, but I don’t want them sensing you. You need to keep people from coming to the island.”

“I’ll do what I can,” Samuel said. “Give my best to Emily when you see her.”

They briefly watched the boat disappear into the mist, before Garrett scrambled up an outcropping of rock, peering across the island.

“The tower, up there,” he pointed. “Is it like the other security systems?”

“Yes,” Corvo replied, eyeing the slowly rotating machine. “It’s been programmed to attack anyone not registered. We’re out of range, and I can only assume it’s not attacking the- the _things_ is because, well…” he trailed off.

Garrett nodded his head. “Can you reprogram it?”

Corvo turned his gaze into the thief, who was watching the machine and the creatures that were patrolling near its base.

“I would have thought that would have been the last thing on your mind,” he said eventually. “Haven’t they suffered enough?”

“Suffering is letting them live longer,” Garrett responded, as though he’d rehearsed the line before. “Conventional ammunition will not bring them down. Fire, bright light, or the watchtower. That will. Can you reprogram the tower?” he asked again.

Corvo peered up at the structure.

“Maybe,” he said. “I’ve seen it done a few times before. It can’t be too difficult to figure out.”

He stepped up onto the rock, careful to not get too close to the watchtower. Grasping Garrett’s arm, he transported them both into the revolving platform.

“It doesn’t detect us here?” Garrett asked, pulling out the container of whale oil, causing the machine to grind to a halt.

“It’s a bit difficult to shoot something on top of you,” Corvo said, opening a panel next to the empty oil receptacle. He peered at the collection of wires in front of him. “Keep an eye out – can those things climb?”

“Yes,” Garrett replied, erasing any sense of ease Corvo had started to feel since he’d moved them to the platform.

“Perfect,” he muttered, turning his attention to the panel once more.

After several minutes of careful wiring (and one almost-electrocution), Corvo had rearranged the wires into what he _thought_ was the correct arrangement. In theory, all he and Garrett needed to do was reconnect the whale oil and touch the panel while the tower was charging itself.

“Okay,” he said, “I think it’s ready.”

Garrett turned – he’d been perched on the edge of the tower, carefully watching the creatures patrol below them. He looked as though he were about to say something, but cut himself off, glancing up at the Lighthouse.

“Do you feel that?” he asked.

Corvo didn’t reply for a moment, attempting to work out what Garrett meant. The rain was pounding down onto the metal around them, thunder drawing ever closer above them – there were intermittent flashes of lightning in the distance that had startled the creatures below them, causing them to flee to darker shadows for a moment. Concentrating, however, he discovered what the thief was talking about. Beneath his feet, a faint _rumbling,_ emanating up from the stones below them.

“What-“ he began, but Garrett cut him off, darting across the short walkway to shove Corvo into the shadows of the tower’s workings.

Several things happened at once. One, right above them, the lightning that had been drawing ever-nearer crackled above them, striking the top of the lighthouse. At the same time, the rumbling from beneath reached its peak; a _pulse_ of sorts emanated out from the top of the tower. Bright blue and charged with the static from the lightning, it filled Corvo’s vision and made the brand on his hand stutter in an attempt to fend off the energy that passed across it.

Garrett, thankfully, had apparently seen something of the sort coming. By pushing Corvo and himself into the shadows, they’d been spared the worst of the pulse, the majority of the light passing harmlessly around them. However, Corvo saw the man hadn’t been as unaffected as he had: Garrett clutched the side of his head, shutting his eyes as the energy passed over them. He swayed slightly, but managed to keep himself in shadow, maintaining a white-knuckled grip on the railing next to them.

“What was _that?”_ Corvo asked.

“If we’d been exposed to the full force,” Garrett said, slowly lowering his hand, leaning against the railing of the watch tower, “We probably would have ended up like the things below us.”

Corvo swallowed, looking over the railing at the abominations, as they screeched, almost praising the light they had been bathed in, unaffected because they had already changed. He wondered if this was what had happened when Havelock had situated the stone inside the Lighthouse the first time, if a pulse had simply swept across the island and transformed every unsuspecting guard into something _else._

“You’re not – we’re not – protected?” he asked eventually.

“Marginally,” Garrett said. “It might not change me, but it still… _hurts,”_ he settled on, clearly having trouble finding the right word. “As for you, I don’t know. I thought it better to be cautious.”

“Thanks,” Corvo said. “How often can we expect _that?”_

“I don’t know,” Garrett replied. “We were lucky, this time is the only time.”

They were silent for a moment, before Garrett spoke up again.

“You said you’d rewired the tower,” he said.

“Yes,” Corvo acknowledged, turning back to the still-open panel. “I hope. All we need to do is reconnect the oil and touch _this_ panel here,” he said, gesturing.

“Let’s find out, then,” Garrett said. Corvo turned, picking up the container of whale oil. It was three-quarters full, he saw. Hopefully that would be enough.

“Put your hand on the panel,” he said, adjusting his grip on the container.

“So if it fails, it only electrocutes me?” Garrett asked. Corvo chuckled, before pushing the container into the receptacle and placing his hand on the panel, next to Garrett’s.

The tower took a few seconds to charge, but Corvo felt the current jump across his skin, signalling that he’d wired it correctly.

Then, somewhat spectacularly, the tower came to life, detecting life forms that were no longer registered as safe. The siren blared, and Corvo could hear the machinery spooling up, as the tower very quickly rotated.

“Hold on,” he called to Garrett, gripping the railing, as the tower started to fire on the creatures below them.

Two were caught unawares – they’d reacted to the noise and were actually heading _closer_ to the tower – and as such were hit full force with the fiery blasts from the tower’s cannon. A third and fourth were caught in the tower’s second barrage. The tower spun again, this time firing upon a small cluster of creatures on a walkway to their left, and Corvo watched several of them leap away from the fire, over a small inlet, screeching as the flames caught on dry, papery skin. Their eyes _glowed,_ he saw, reflecting the orange and yellow flames with a bright blue gaze, the same blue as the light that came from the Lighthouse and Garrett’s eye.

Slowly, the tower ground to a halt, resuming its regular circular scan of the area around them. In all, Corvo saw seven charred corpses, but a few of the creatures lingered out of the tower’s range, wary of the fires still burning.

“Well,” Garrett said, releasing his grip on the railing. “That worked rather well.” Corvo nodded, not wanting to voice his thoughts, yet Garrett seemed to pick up on them anyway.

“It’s better,” he said. “To live like those creatures is worse than the death they’ve just received.”

Corvo nodded again. He knew Garrett was a man who didn’t take death lightly, he also knew the truth behind his words. The creatures hadn’t looked alive, hadn’t looked able to return to the humanity that had been stripped from them.

_They are not alive. They have not received the gift of death, either._

“Which way?” he asked, changing the subject away from the creatures.

“It looks as though there are two ways in,” Garrett replied. “A beach-side entrance, or a harbour-side one. Although, now we’re cleared the immediate area around it, there may be a route through that pipe there.”

He pointed at the pipe in question – several feet above the ground, it was almost directly in front of them. Where it led, Corvo couldn’t see, but that wasn’t what he was worried about.

“Can you see anything in there?” he asked. “I don’t want us to meet something inside.”

The lightning flashed above them, but thankfully didn’t strike the tower, as Garrett gripped the railing and peered at the pipe.

Corvo never usually saw when Garrett used the Eye and the abilities given to him by the Outsider. This time, he still didn’t see, but the creatures, stood away from the rapidly-extinguishing fires, they _did._ They screeched, voices almost inaudible above the rain and wind, but it was enough to draw Corvo’s attention back to their glowing eyes, eyes which were now fixed on _them._

“I don’t see anything,” Garrett said. “And don’t expect me to see anything else for a while. _They_ can sense the Primal.”

Corvo nodded, gazing at the pipe. “Fine. Let’s go. Have your fire arrows ready.”

He couldn’t get them to the pipe in one shot, so he first transported them to the ground, still within the tower’s protective circle. He soon found it was just as well he did – the creatures also detected _his_ powers. He supposed he should have expected that.

The mutants apparently had short-term memory: one of them leapt towards them, forgetting about the watchtower that was looming over them. Corvo had a split second to see the shape descending towards them – pale white silhouetted against a black sky – before the lightning flashed, and the watchtower spun into action again. It was designed to prioritise enemies over friendlies – even if accepted personnel were within its boundaries, it would still target those not accepted. As such, Corvo immediately tightened the grip he had on Garrett’s arm, blindly reaching his other hand out and transporting them in the vague direction of the pipe’s opening.

By luck more than skill, he managed to land them on the metal hatch of the pipe itself. Turning, he saw the spot they’d previously occupied was now inhabited by an on-fire creature, the screeches of which were lost to the storm around them.

“What I’m surmising here is that neither of us can afford to be reckless with our gifts,” Garrett said, as they stepped into the pipe, crouching to fit. Inside, it was relatively quiet, giving them a brief respite from the rain. A steady stream of water ran through it, but it was shallow, and they were wet already.

“I assume they can’t differentiate between those with the Primal and those Marked,” Corvo said. “The Outsider made it sound like they were two sides of the same coin, after all.”

“If we’re going to make it through undetected, we’re going to have to do this without enhancement,” Garrett said. “Lucky I’m well-practised at that sort of thing.”

“So am I,” Corvo muttered, affronted. “I was very good at what I did _before_ I had these powers, you know.”

“So _that’s_ why you spent six months languishing inside a prison, instead of – I don’t know – escaping?”

“Of course, I forgot I was in the presence of a _true_ member of the criminal class – so good he doesn’t get caught. What was it you were doing in the Flooded District, again? Acrobat lessons for the Whalers?”

Garrett looked as though he were about to respond, but apparently thought better of it. Corvo couldn’t see his face – the thief was ahead of him – but he could imagine the sour look that crossed it. Corvo quelled the small, childish triumph he felt at that.

The pipe was short, and opened out into a rocky alcove situated beneath a catwalk. Garrett stepped to the side, allowing Corvo to stand upright and peer up at the catwalk.

Above them, the lightning flashed again – a bright blue wave washed over the island once more, and Corvo felt his skin prickling at the sensation. Thankfully, they were still sheltered here. The light, however, did give Corvo a split second to register the shape that hurtled out of the darkness towards them.

It crashed into Garrett, sending them both to the floor; he heard Garrett stifle a shout of pain as he landed awkwardly on his shoulder. Corvo drew his sword – the shape wasn’t one of the creatures that were patrolling the island now, but a _guard;_ a living, breathing, alive human that had somehow survived against the odds.

He grabbed onto the guard’s coat, hauling him off of Garrett and throwing him towards the rocky wall. He held his sword out, point pressing into the guard’s chest.

“Stand down, soldier,” he said. “We are not here to hurt you.”

The guard had clearly had a challenging day – he was pale, sweating, and looked to be suffering from sleep deprivation (likely due to the fact he was terrified out of his mind). At sight of the two masked men before him, he swallowed, actually managing to turn paler.

“By the Outsider, you- you’re- you’re _him – them –_ the masked felons-“ he stammered, trying to draw in breath.

“I’m fine,” Garrett said, pulling himself up from the floor, “thank you for your concern, Corvo.”

Corvo turned the impassive face of his mask towards Garrett, raising an eyebrow beneath it. He couldn’t see Garrett’s face either, but he got the impression the man was pulling a face at him.

“Corvo?” the guard squeaked, voice taking on a pitch Corvo normally reserved for the rats. “You really are here to kill me, then, aren’t you?”

Garrett snorted. “Don’t be so eager. Put your sword away before he gets too hysterical to talk.” The second part was addressed to Corvo.

“What happened here?” Corvo asked, folding his sword away; the guard looked slightly more at ease to see that, but only _slightly._ His eyes darted between the two of them, he was more afraid of Corvo but Garrett appeared to unease him. “Tell us everything.”

“I-well- well I don’t rightly _know,”_ the guard attempted, wringing his hands together. “We were told to patrol the island in case you or someone else undesirable came for the Empress. Admiral Havelock and the others were going to the Lighthouse, I think. I just did as I was told, I patrolled my route. Only, we took a break after a while – Adrian was gettin’ his own squad so Killian had brought some whiskey. And then- then something happened. At the top of the Lighthouse. It was like- like-“

He broke off, swallowing, as the lightning flashed once more, bringing the blue wave with it again. This time, however, there was a resounding _groan_ that echoed through the fort, rattling the catwalk above them and showering them with dust.

“This place is becoming less and less stable,” Garrett said, brushing some dust off his shoulder. “The same thing happened back home. We’re running out of time.”

“Well, it was like _that,”_ the guard said. “A huge flash of light and it was like the whole island was gonna fall into the sea. And then- and then- Adrian and Killian and the others – they all started to _change-_ into- into those _things.”_

“How is it you were spared?” Corvo asked.

“I musta been in some shadows or somethin’ – thank the Outsider – and then I ran. Jumped down here where I thought they couldn’t get me. So far they haven’t, but I can hear them movin’ about.”

“Do you know anything about Emily? Or the Admiral?” Corvo asked.

“I- no,” the guard admitted. “If they were inside, though, then they might have been safe.”

“As long as you’re quiet and still, they shouldn’t notice you,” Garrett said. “As soon as the sun rises, you’ll be safe.”

“Don’t use the pipe,” Corvo told him. “We rewired the watchtower out there.”

The guard nodded hurriedly, looking between them like they were his saviours – albeit a pair of saviours he’d never expected to receive.

“Take this,” Garrett said, reaching into his quiver and pulling out an arrow. “If they come down here, throw this as hard as you can at their feet, and run as fast as you can. It’ll buy you a few seconds.”

“What can we expect up there?” Corvo asked, pointing to the catwalk above them, and an open dooway.

“It’s where we wire the Walls of Light,” the guard said, clutching the arrow as if it were a lifeline. “But I closed the door to the control room behind me, and I don’t have a key to open it.”

“That’s not a problem,” Garrett said.

He reached to the holster at his side, unhooking the Claw and eyeing the catwalk above them. As ever, he threw with precision, latching it onto a strut where the handrail joined the catwalk.

“After you,” he gestured.

“Remember,” Corvo said to the guard. “Don’t leave until sunrise, unless you have to. If you need to go further in, beware the island defences. We may have had to rewire them.”

He couldn’t really offer anything other than that, and grapsed the rope, quickly hauling himself up to the catwalk. He heard Garrett mutter a quiet good luck to the guard, before the thief joined him on the platform. A door lead into a concrete room with slatted windows and another, locked door. The room also had controls for the Walls of Light leading to the harbourside, but from what Corvo could see, the light alone was keeping the creatures away, so rewiring them wasn’t a priority. Several tanks of whale oil glowed in the antechamber, but they passed them by.

The room was mostly a dead end (Corvo wondered who on earth designed it, if he were honest), and so instead they headed up a set of stairs, into a different room. It was much like the other, except there was a door here.

Garrett peered through one of the slatted windows, before moving to the door and looking through its keyhole instead.

“I see one,” he said quietly. “It has its back to us, and is standing directly in the way of the door.”

“Anything else?” Corvo asked.

“Another door out of here,” Garrett replied. “I don’t know where it leads, other than deeper inside the fort. Nothing else alive, though.”

“Well, it’s the right direction, I suppose. Can you open the door quietly enough to not alert the creature?” he asked.

“You forget who you’re speaking to,” was the reply, as Garrett drew his lockpicks and crouched in front of the door again.

It took him longer than it did at the Golden Cat; Corvo wasn’t sure whether it was due to the nature of the lock, the fact the creatures probably had sharper hearing than a human, or Garrett’s injuries. He was just glad they didn’t have to attempt to find a key, or another way around the creatures and the island defences. It would have been difficult _with_ the use of their abilities; the virtual suppression of said abilities made their task a whole lot harder.

It was strange to think he’d had them for less than a week. He’d already grown accustomed to using them, to _utilising_ them in his quest to save a city from falling into chaos.

Garrett stepped away from the door, but didn’t open it. Instead, he drew his bow, wincing as it creaked in the near-silence of the room they were stood in.

“You’re going to open the door,” he said quietly, “and I’m going to shoot the abomination.”

“What if it attracts more?” Corvo hissed.

“Then we quickly shut the door, lock it, and hope there’s another way in,” Garrett said.

“Are you usually this _cavalier_ in your thieving attempts?” Corvo asked, stepping up to the door, disliking the idea but seeing no other way around.

“Depends on how much preparation I’m given. Usually, no,” Garrett replied. “We don’t have the luxury of time.”

Corvo chose to remain silent, chewing on his bottom lip slightly, before reaching over to the door handle. He’d stood on the far side of the door, so that when he opened it the door itself would hide him from the creature that lurked outside.

He held up a hand, three fingers raised, and Garrett nodded, readying his bow. From his position, Corvo couldn’t see the arrow he chose, but he hoped it wasn’t an explosive one. He slowly counted down with his fingers, and gently opened the door, wincing at the creak it made.

He heard the creature move, but also heard the whistle of Garrett’s arrow through the air, followed by the sound of a fire igniting on the creature’s papery skin. It shrieked, falling to the floor, and was soon quiet. Corvo peered around the door in time to see the creature fall; he released a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.

“Goodbye, Adrian,” Garrett muttered, as the last of the flames went out. “You piece of shit.”

“You don’t know that was his name,” Corvo said eventually. Garrett shrugged in response.

“It felt right,” he said, and stepped over the smoking corpse towards the other doorway. This doorway was open, and they paused at the entrance, scanning the area in front of them.

It was a courtyard of some sort, just past the entrance to the fort – he could hear a Wall of Light crackling nearby.

From here, Corvo had no idea of where to go, but he could see the lighthouse was growing closer. There were several doorways in the fort, visible through the blue-tinged light and rain.

Lightning chose that moment to strike the lighthouse again, and the two ducked behind the door as the wave of blue light washed across the island once more. Corvo saw Garrett wince, hands curling around the doorframe, but he didn’t say anything. While they were unharmed, the light did reveal the creatures that were currently patrolling the courtyard; they paused in their routes to screech at the sky above them, as the power from the lighthouse engulfed them once more.

There were five of them, variously arrayed around the area, moving in what appeared to be a vague circle of some sort. If the situation hadn’t been so tense, Corvo might have found it amusing. As it were, he drew back, leaning into the wall behind him.

“In theory,” Garrett whispered. “We can just sneak by.”

Corvo turned to look at Garrett, something akin to disbelief on his face, even if the other man couldn’t see it.

“ _Now_ you want to sneak past them?” he hissed, careful to not raise his voice too much. “What happened to it being better to kill them?”

“We don’t have the firepower,” Garrett replied. “They’re spread too thinly, and I don’t have enough ammunition to take them all out _and_ whatever may be waiting in the lighthouse proper. The creatures are blind,” he added. “If we’re quiet, slow, and careful, we can sneak by.”

Corvo risked a glance out at the creatures again, carefully watching them. He could see that Garrett was right, however – the creatures didn’t actually _have_ visible eyes (at least, not until they glowed, which Corvo assumed happened when they detected the Primal). They relied on their hearing, then, and it was likely supernaturally enhanced.

“Please tell me you’ve done this before,” he said eventually.

“Twice,” Garrett confirmed. Corvo wasn’t sure whether that was a comfort or not.

Garrett peered around the doorframe again, scanning the creatures for a long moment.

“The rain should help us,” he said. “It will make the sound of our movements more difficult to track. We just have to hope that the lighthouse doesn’t surge while we’re halfway across the courtyard.”

Corvo hadn’t even considered _that._

“What door are we heading for?” Garrett asked; Corvo leaned around the doorframe again.

“That one,” he eventually said, pointing to a door on the far right. It was the furthest away from the patrolling creatures.

Garrett huffed out a breath, apparently seeing through the decision immediately.

“Stay close, then,” was all he said, and stepped out into the rain.

While Corvo wasn’t the most used to sneaking around, he’d grown pretty good at it the past week. Some part of him was calling upon his childhood, wherein he’d snuck into several places to gain food, water, or whatever he’d needed to survive on the streets of Karnaca. He briefly wondered if he would see it again, if he would feel the sun bathe his skin when stood on top of the cliffs. Here, following Garrett through the rain, attempting to skirt creatures that looked as though they’d been spat out from the Void itself, he wondered if he would ever be able to take Emily there.

She would likely need to tour the Isles once she became Empress. _If_ she became Empress.

She would like Karnaca.

A rumble of thunder brought him back to the present; Garrett froze in front of him, casting a careful glance at the sky, gently placing his foot back in the place he’d lifted it from. Corvo was starting to wish he’d acquired shoes like Garrett’s, instead of the heavier boots he was currently wearing.

Garrett waited a few seconds, looking between the lighthouse, the creatures, and the route in front of him, before moving once more, glancing back at Corvo as he did so. Corvo couldn’t see his face well, but he looked a lot calmer than Corvo felt right now.

He dutifully followed, keeping a careful eye on the creature that was nearest to them. Garrett seemed to be watching the creature too, for he slowed down slightly, skirting a large puddle in front of him. The creature froze, turned slightly, and Corvo’s gaze instantly focused on it.

_There is nothing left of the man he used to be,_ the Heart whispered, unexpectedly, causing Corvo to flinch, foot landing awkwardly on the edge of the puddle, causing it to splash. Loudly.

He was pretty certain the Outsider was playing some sort of joke on him.

He froze, closing his eyes for a moment, before slowly casting his gaze to the creature nearest to them.

It had heard them.

“Do. Not. Move.” Garrett breathed, as the creature slowly turned to face them, socketless eyes searching the area they were stood in. Corvo held still, ignoring the somewhat painful position his leg was in, eyes glued to the figure now moving towards them.

It was at this point that he realised they didn’t actually have a plan for if and when it fully spotted them. Corvo didn’t really want to be in reach, after all – from here he could see that what had once been the guard’s hands were now tapered into long, sharp claws. Its eyes had started to glow, too. Corvo took that to be a bad sign.

It was an agonising wait, both of them holding their breath as the creature drew nearer. Corvo felt a bead of sweat run down the back of his neck, despite the fact the rain was chilling him to the bone.

And then the ground beneath them started to shake. He didn’t need to be told that the lighthouse was about to surge again.

“Run,” Garrett said, simply. Corvo didn’t need to be told twice; the stillness that had permeated the past few seconds shattered in an instant as both of them turned and raced towards the open doorway.

The creature _shrieked,_ Corvo swore several times under his breath, following Garrett. Garrett, for his part, reached into his quiver and pulled out an arrow. He glanced behind him, past Corvo, and span, throwing the arrow perilously close to Corvo’s face. It whizzed by, slower than if it had been fired from a bow, but still under great speed.

Corvo decided he would have a few words with Garrett about the way he threw arrows later.

He didn’t bother to look, but heard the _crack_ of the arrow impacting on the floor, saw the bright flashes of light that cast his and Garrett’s shadows stark against the concrete, and heard the creature shrieking behind them.

He risked a glance, saw the creature’s skin was now decidedly more _charred_ than it had been before; it reeled away from the remains of the flash arrow and darted towards the shadows on the far side of the courtyard.

Two more replaced it.

And _then,_ just when Corvo thought it couldn’t get any worse, the tower pulsed once more, expelling another wave of blue light across the island.

He reacted on instinct. Shoved Garrett forward, into the shadows of the doorway that was _just not close enough,_ falling to the ground as the extra reach unbalanced him. He twisted, landing on his right shoulder, managing to face the creatures but unable to pull out his sword. Dimly heard Garrett shout at him as the creature leapt, raised his free arm to shield himself-

And then the entire world went _white._

The skin on the back of his hand seared, bright light pulsing out from it, the pain also lancing into some unknown part of his brain. It was bright, brighter than the flash arrow Garrett had thrown, and he could hear the creatures shrieking above his own yell of pain.

He wasn’t sure what happened next. He might have blacked out.

The next thing he knew was that he was sitting on the ground, propped up against a metal pipe. His mask had been removed, place upon the floor next to him. They were inside a building, it was dark, quiet, aside from the machinery humming above him, and relatively dry. His head felt like it had been pierced with a whaling harpoon.

“Careful,” Garrett said, when he moved, bringing up a hand to his head. Corvo squinted in the half-light to see the other man’s shape in the darkness, carefully keeping an eye on both him and the area around him. Garrett had his bow out, an arrow nocked, fingers resting on the bowstring.

“We’re never doing that again,” Corvo said, rubbing at his head. “That was the _worst_ idea you’ve ever had.”

“We made it, didn’t we?” Garrett replied.

“Only because-“ Corvo cut himself off. “What happened?” he asked.

Garrett moved from the wall he’d been leaning against, holding out a hand to pull Corvo to a standing position.

“I’m not sure,” he answered. “But I think the Outsider may have augmented your powers again. Do you remember when you picked up that rune, in the sewer tunnels?”

Corvo frowned, attempting to recall the moment. They’d spoken to Slackjaw, and he’d heard the Heart beat, had been drawn to the shrine. His mind had been preoccupied – the fight they’d just had with Granny Rags, Garrett’s deteriorating condition, the lingering thoughts of _Daud_ – and he’d not really paid attention when he’d grabbed the item. But now that Garrett had brought it up again, he recalled _something_ different. His skin had prickled, the brand on his hand had stuttered a bright white for a moment. He’d not paid it any attention back then; had associated it with the Outsider’s appearance before them. But maybe- _maybe it was something else._

“It was like… a _barrier?”_ he hazarded, trying to work out what had happened when the creature had gotten close to him.

“From what I could tell, it was more of a… _pulse,”_ Garrett settled on. “You probably don’t see it, but it was similar to when you bend time. Except this pulse was _strong._ It nearly pushed me over, it annihilated _one_ of the freaks and scattered the others, and even repelled the Primal from the lighthouse.”

“Wow,” Corvo surmised.

“Indeed,” Garrett said. “I would say it’s useful, but it completely wiped you out and I had to drag you in here.”

“Where is _here,_ exactly?” Corvo asked, peering at their surroundings again.

“Some kind of pump room, I think,” Garrett said. “I think there’s a way out over there, though,” he added, pointing to a drainage gate on the far end of the room. “Or, at least, a way out that likely isn’t populated by mutants.”

“Joy,” Corvo muttered. “Another sewer.”

Garrett huffed out a laugh, before heading over to the drainage gate. Corvo followed, replacing his mask as he did so.

“Are you alright?” Corvo asked suddenly, seeing that Garrett had gained a slight limp again.

“Fine,” Garrett said, not stopping. “I fell on it when you pushed me.”

“Oh. Sorry,” Corvo replied, casting his eye over Garrett once more. Despite the limp, he was still moving better than he had been in the sewer tunnels; Corvo took that to mean it was a good thing.

“Don’t be,” Garrett said. “We still don’t know how much protection I’ve got from the lighthouse.”

The drainage gate was closed, but luckily there was a valve to open it nearby – Corvo quickly twisted it as Garrett peered through the opening.

“We’re clear,” he confirmed, and Corvo opened the gate further, aware of the creaking the mechanism made. Nothing came to investigate, however, so he assumed the creatures in the courtyard had learned from the past, or were simply patrolling outside again.

The gate was fairly simple, and while the stagnant pool of water that lay beyond it seemed like a problem, it was a short hop to another gate.

They ended up in a small antechamber, in front of a (predictably) closed gate. This was filled with water too, but it only crept up to their ankles. Corvo sighed, seeing some more problems on their horizon, before Garrett pointed to the grate above them.

“Up there,” he said, indicating another valve above them, before grasping onto the edge of the gate and hauling himself upright, using a nearby pipe as leverage. He stood, crouched on top of the thin gate, hands snaking through the grating to slowly twist it. Corvo had to admire his patience – he probably would have given up and climbed around.

Soon, the gate was open, revealing a section of pipe that curved around to the left.

“I hate these pipes,” Garrett muttered, hauling himself onto the gate. Corvo silently agreed, but followed him all the same.

They were mostly just heading in the general direction of the lighthouse. Corvo didn’t know exactly where the pipes lead, but it was a better option than risking the courtyard or above ground again.

A pair of rats scurried by their feet – Corvo flinched out of instinct more than anything else, but the rats quickly moved past them. When they rounded the corner, they were greeted with a sight that Corvo suspected neither he nor Garrett would forget for a long time.

The pipe opened into a small antechamber, a sunken level inside the gatehouse. Inside the antechamber, lay the body of an Overseer. They were pressed into the far corner, by another closed gate, limp, maskless.

“Martin,” Garrett confirmed.

In silence, they both exited the pipe, crossing the chamber to the body. The room around them was empty, Corvo was thankful to see.

Martin was dead. That was clear to see. The side of his coat was torn to shreds – Corvo could see congealing blood where one of the creatures had likely clawed him. Plus, part of his skull had been replaced by an ugly, gaping hole. A pistol lay on the floor nearby, next to two words crudely scrawled onto the ground in blood.

_CURSE ME._

Corvo swallowed, closing his eyes and turning his head away. He’d disliked Martin, yes, even more so after his betrayal, but to imagine the man huddled down _here,_ in the bottom of the fortress, ending his own life surrounded by abominations from beyond the Void? Corvo wouldn’t wish that on his worst enemy.

“Look,” Garrett said, pointing. “Look at his hand.”

Corvo looked over to where the thief was pointing; Martin’s left hand, he saw, was _different_ somehow. Almost like-

“He was changing,” Garrett said quietly. “Maybe he wasn’t hit with the full force – maybe his strength of mind helped him hold out for a while – but he saw it coming long enough to stop it.”

Corvo didn’t speak for a long moment. “Maybe there was some honour in him, in the end,” he said eventually.

“Whatever there was, it’s not for us to decide his fate now,” Garrett said, standing up and stepping back from the body.

_Despite his talk of Strictures, Martin’s crimes weighed heavy on his spirit,_ the soft voice of the Heart whispered in Corvo’s ear. He sighed; he’d known that they would have to face Martin eventually, as well has Pendleton and Havelock, but he’d been hopeful that they could have come to a peaceful agreement. This? This was nothing more than a waste, the result of a rash decision made by a desparate individual. The same could be said for every guard on the island, unless Corvo and Garrett were lucky enough to find more survivors.

The gatehouse, luckily, was empty. Corvo and Garrett hauled themselves out of the drainage canal to find their only way out was up a set of stairs. A chain dangled through the middle of the stairwell, but they both ignored it, quietly treading their way up the stairs.

The first floor was level with the courtyard they’d just been in – a Wall of Light hummed between them and the open space, but Corvo could see a smoking corpse, and two creatures still patrolling the area. They quickly passed by the opening, continuing up the stairs.

The second floor was a control room of some sort – an open doorway to their right revealed controls for the Wall of Light downstairs. For a moment, Corvo considered rewiring them, but didn’t. They had a way in and out of the gatehouse, rewiring the Wall of Light took time and could draw enemies closer to them.

On the far side of the room, Garrett picked up a key; a note was pinned on the wall beside them. He briefly scanned it, before crumpling the paper and stowing away the key.

“It’s for the lighthouse elevator,” he said. Corvo nodded in reply.

There was still nothing on the level above them. Somehow, that was _worse._ Corvo could feel the tension rising as they slowly made their way up the stairs, expecting _something_ but finding nothing. Surely Havelock would have had guards patrolling these levels – it made him wonder what had happened to all the people that were there.

On the top level, Corvo was equally relieved and anxious when they finally discovered a creature lurking. Halfway up the stairs, Garrett froze, and Corvo peered around him to see the mutant was facing away from them, crouched, pawing through rubbish. Garrett slowly turned his head, facing Corvo, before gesturing silently at the rest of the stairwell.

Well. At least they weren’t outside, Corvo supposed. Yet, to get higher up, they would have to pass by the creature to reach _another_ set of stairs.

“Wait,” he whispered, suddenly, reaching out to press down on Garrett’s arm. He squinted at the creature, at the tattered remains of clothing around it (they’d clearly been shredded during the creature’s transformation). Some of the clothes were still attached to their former owner, most notably a pale white cravat cinced around its neck. Corvo couldn’t see the front of the creature, but he could picture the pin that held the cravat in place.

“Pendleton,” he breathed. Next to him, Garrett turned to gaze at the creature again, head tilted as he scanned the mutant. Corvo saw the recognition register.

Both Martin and Pendleton had fallen foul of the Primal stone – of Havelock’s ambition. The hope that Emily had remained unscathed was slowly leeching away.

_Do not believe it. Not until you see it,_ he told himself.

“What do you want to do?” Garrett asked quietly, nodding to the creature that used to be Treavor Pendleton.

They were originally going to sneak by, leave the creature be. But _now,_ now they knew the person that it once was, Corvo wasn’t so sure. Even Garrett appeared to be hesitant.

Leaving him seemed to be an even crueller fate than the one already planned out for him. Corvo saw Garrett reach for an arrow in his quiver, and he nodded his confirmation.

He wanted to turn away, as Garrett slowly drew the bow, silently taking aim at the creature. He didn’t turn away, found something within himself that forced him to watch as Garrett loosed an arrow and set Treavor Pendleton alight.

The creature screeched, burned, and fell. It was over in a matter of moments. There was something almost anticlimactic in it – all that _ambition_ reduced to a smoking pile of ash and bone. Somewhere, in the pile, Corvo could see the pin that had adorned Pendleton’s throat, gleaming in the last remaining embers of the fire.

“Poor bastard,” Garrett muttered, replacing his bow. Corvo didn’t reply, and nothing more was said as they passed the corpse by.

At the top of the stairs, they were prevented with a view of the entire fortress. In the haze of rain and half-light of the structure, Corvo could see several more creatures along the walls, as well as the beach on the other side of the wall. A long bridge spanned the gap between the fortress and the base of the lighthouse. From their position on the top of the gatehouse, Corvo could see several creatures were waiting for them, variously standing and patrolling. There was also an arc pylon; dormant for now.

“We have two options,” Garrett said. “We can either go over it all, along the bridge supports, like we did at Kaldwin’s Bridge, or-“

“We can go under,” Corvo said, spotting the lower level of grating underneat the arc pylon. Safer? Perhaps, if only from falling to their deaths. It did bring them closer to the creatures that lurked on the catwalk.

“We could rewire the pylon,” Garrett said. “Can you do it quietly enough that we aren’t detected?”

“I think so,” Corvo said slowly. “If you have a way for us to get down there.”

“I do,” Garrett said. “Hold on to this.”

He presented Corvo with the end of a piece of rope. The rest was connected to an arrow, which Garrett notched, carefully took aim, and fired, hitting the underside of the catwalk.

A creature turned at the sound, but after a few moments contemplation, turned back to face its companions again.

Corvo took that as his cue, tying the end of the rope to a nearby metal bracket – the angle would enable them to slide quickly down the rope and onto the lower catwalk.

“I’ll go first,” Garrett offered, before hooking his bow over the rope and pushing off. He slid quickly, and surprisingly quietly – none of the mutants appeared to notice the noise, although the arc pylon crackled upon detecting Garrett. Corvo followed as best he could – a few hair-raising seconds suspended above nothingness was worth it for the small, childish thrill he got – carefully watching the creatures as he made his own landing on the lower catwalk.

Garrett had already opened the pylon’s casing, and was setting about removing the whale oil when Corvo approached the control box. They were silent, fast, knowing that any false move or sound would alert the creatures above their heads and likely spell their ruin. They didn’t have an escape route this time.

He rewird the pylon faster than he had the watchtower, a combination of muscle memory and fear of detection guiding his movements. Wordlessly, they placed their hands on the panel, and Garrett lifted the whale oil tank back into its receptacle.

Corvo closed his eyes when the pylon whirred into action. This close, the static made the hairs on the back of his neck rise; he could taste the sharp tang of static and smell the charring of flesh. Despite their formidable nature, the creatures stood little chance against the pylon. What little brain function that was allowed to them did not enable them to process that the loud, electrical object nearby was a danger to them. At least, not in enough time to escape.

_May their spirits fade and merge with the cosmos,_ a voice in his head said, once the shrieks had fallen quiet. He wasn’t sure if it was his own or the Heart’s.

Ash floated down between the gaps in the grating. Corvo tried to ignore it as Garrett removed the tank of oil.

“We’ll have to cross this bridge again on the way back,” he said, “and Emily won’t be protected.”

Corvo was struck with the notion that he hadn’t actually thought that far ahead. His main hope had simply been getting to the lighthouse, getting Emily, and dealing with Havelock and the Primal stone.

_How_ he was going to deal with them was another question entirely.

But Garrett – a thief whose profession relied on creating exits as well as entrances – had clearly thought ahead. It made Corvo wonder if he’d crafted a plan for crossing the fortess courtyard again. Still, the fact Garrett was provisioning for their return journey also revealed something else: Corvo wasn’t alone in clinging to what felt like a desparate hope that Emily was still alive.

She had to be.

He couldn’t lose her. Not like he’d lost Jessamine.

“Corvo,” Garrett’s voice broke into his thoughts. He snapped out of his reverie, turning to Garrett, who motioned to the lighthouse. “We need to keep moving.”

He nodded, too afraid to speak, lest he voice his thoughts.

Garrett paused, seeming to recognise something in Corvo’s demeanor, but didn’t speak; he merely adjusted his scarf and turned towards the lighthouse.

_He knows what it is, to stand where you stand,_ the Heart whispered. _Some part of him is glad you are not alone like he was._

The way to the lighthouse was a single catwalk that rose to meet the rocky outcropping that housed it.  It was empty, and the only thing that waited for the pair at the lighthouse’s base was an elevator. Locked, until Garrett produced the key he had acquired earlier, and soon they were ascending to the lighthouse proper, at the peak of the island.

They stood, silent; Garrett peered out of the window, squinting at the rest of the fortress underneath. Below them came the tell-tale rumble, and when the lighthouse flared again, the metal structure groaned, like a leviathan from the deep ocean. The elevator’s machinery rattled, the elevator itself juddered under the strain for a moment, before it continued its ascent.

It wasn’t going to last much longer, if the sound it made was anything to go by.

“They could be safer, up there,” Garrett said, startling Corvo suddenly. “The freaks might not have gotten up there. This is the only way up, and it’s a long climb.”

Corvo wasn’t sure who Garrett was trying to reassure more.

“Since when were we that lucky?” he countered, and Garrett huffed out a quick, amused breath, absently rubbing his left shoulder as he did so.

The elevator ground to a halt, revealing a rain-lashed deck and a set of stairs curving around the lighthouse exterior. Slowly stepping out of the elevator, Corvo saw Garrett peering upwards, at the lighthouse itself.

“We should split up,” Garrett said, suddenly.

“What?”

Garrett didn’t reply; instead he reached behind him and took out his bow. The quiver followed it, and he pressed the items into a surprised Corvo’s hands.

“I’m going to climb up to the lighthouse – _that way,”_ Garrett said, pointing at the intricate mesh of metal beams above them. “I’m going to get the stone. _You’re_ going to get Emily. And before you argue, consider that a two-pronged attack will be better than a single one, if it comes to it.”

“And you’re giving me your bow, because…?” Corvo asked, after a moment, still holding on to the items.

“Where I’m going, I won’t encounter any freaks,” he said, simply. “They can climb, but they don’t generally linger in places like that. And if I _do_ find some, I’ll avoid them. You’re going _that_ way- “ he pointed to the catwalk leading up to the entrance to the lighthouse’s main building – “and it probably won’t be empty. You- you _do_ know how to shoot a bow, right?” he asked, suddenly.

“Yes,” Corvo said, turning the bow in question over in his hand. “How do I unfold it?” he asked.

“Here,” said Garrett, indicating a button on the grip. “The same will also collapse it, and then you put it _here,_ by the quiver.” He indicated a leather pouch of sorts, attached to the quiver. “The bow doesn’t have a traditional sight, so it’s probably better you aim for centre mass rather than headshots. Remember to account for the wind and rain.”

Corvo nodded his affirmative, and Garrett turned his attention to the quiver itself.

“The arrows you’ll need are fire, explosive, flash, and maybe sawtooth. You have two fire, two explosive, two flash, and five sawtooth. Hope that you don’t need more. You tell the difference between them by notches, near the fletching. Fire arrows have an X, explosive ones have an O, and sawtooth a pair of parallel lines going around the entire arrow.”

“The flash arrows?” Corvo asked.

“Nothing. Piero didn’t put a mark on them,” Garrett said. “Remember, sawtooth arrows won’t hurt the abominations much, but if you can pin it somewhere, you might buy yourself a few seconds.”

Corvo nodded, and attached the bow and quiver to his back. The bow was lighter than he’d expected, and he had to admit that carrying working ammunition gave him more comfort than it should.

Garrett gazed up at the lighthouse again, one hand reaching to unholster the Claw.

“Keep your guard up,” he said. “I don’t know what will happen when I remove the stone, but prepare for the worst.”

He turned back to Corvo for a moment.

“Good luck,” he said, before hauling himself on to the top of the elevator, and hooking the Claw into a metal strut above him. He began to climb, not once looking back, soon disappearing into the rain.

It occurred to Corvo that maybe he should have given Garrett his own crossbow in return. The thief probably would have declined it anyway; an extra weight and hindrance to someone who travelled light.

Corvo then turned to the stairs in front of him, and made his own ascent, alone, with the storm raging around him.

                                                                                       

* * *

 

Garrett had climbed some perilous structures in his time. A disintegrating Audale bridge sprang to mind, even the Stonemarket clocktower in a high wind had its problems, despite his familiarity with it.

Kingsparrow Lighthouse, without a doubt, was probably one of the worst structures he’d ever had the displeasure of climbing.

A network of steel and iron meshed together, hammered by rain and wind, Garrett was faintly regretting his idea of splitting from Corvo.

“Who makes a lighthouse out of metal?” he wondered quietly, hauling himself ever higher, taking a moment to glance down at the fortress below them. The City back home didn’t have many lighthouses, and the few it _did_ have were made of stone, constructed centuries ago to last until the end of time itself. In theory. At least two of them were crumbling ruins of their former selves, and one of them boasted rumors of some cult hiding an iron whale underneath it. Whatever _that_ was supposed to be.

But _metal?_ Metal rusted, crumbled, became rickety and unstable and overall was just slippery in the rain that was streaming down around him, forming rivulets that made climbing all that more difficult.

From what Garrett had pieced together, Kingsparrow Lighthouse was a new construction. Thrown together in likely a small amount of time for a lot of money. Corvo hadn’t heard of it, so at the very most it was six months old. The former Lord Regent, Burrows, had built it as a last, highly defensible resort, and Havelock had utilised it to make his final stand against Corvo and Garrett.

If the fool was still alive. He was equally likely to have killed himself, or been killed by the creatures he’d created.

Garrett had been lying when he’d said the creatures didn’t like to lurk in structures like this. In reality, he had no _fucking_ idea. He was trying not to think about it.

He was also trying not to think about the throbbing of his left shoulder, or the way his leg twinged every time he’d stood on it. It had been steadily getting worse since they’d started their traversal across the island – Corvo’s attempt to shield him from the lighthouse’s purge had compounded the issue slightly.

There was also the matter of the headache he was accumulating.

It had started shortly after they’d gotten onto the island. Garrett _knew_ the stone was here, knew the headache was only going to grow worse the closer he’d gotten to it. And every time the lighthouse had expelled a wave of light, every time the stone had attempted to force its will on the pair of them, it had gotten worse. The pain had trickled into his skull like the water that was running across his skin. Right now, it was like someone was slowly twisting a knife into the right side of his head, on par with the other two wounds he’d received the day previous.

He’d not told Corvo. There was nothing Corvo could have done, anyway. And after the debacle in the courtyard, Garrett wasn’t even sure if Corvo would have been able to touch the stone without there being some sort of reaction.

He wasn’t going to risk it. He all-to-well remembered what had become of Orion.

The sound of an explosion in the distance drew his thoughts. Corvo appeared to be putting his bow to good use.

Good. Garrett hadn’t exactly enjoyed parting with it, but he knew Corvo would be far more likely to come into contact with the abominations, if any lingered up here.

Despite his hatred for the metal structure of the lighthouse, he soon crested it, standing on top of the main structure. In front of him was an oblong, arching dome, made entirely of glass and steel. Inside, Garrett could see the decoration he’d grown to recognise as a Dunwall noble’s taste – utilitarian paired with pretentious. If he’d had the time, he would have looked longer, to gauge if there was anything of value worth taking, but he was acutely aware that any flash of lightning would reveal his shadow to anyone standing beneath.

He hauled himself up onto the glass, which was in itself slippery due to the constant assault of rain, and crossed the dome as quickly as he dared, coming into the shadow of the lighthouse tower. A quick throw of the Claw enabled him to climb onto a set of stairs, and he was soon in the interior of the lighthouse’s machine room.

He took a moment to shake the water off of his cloak. While the blanket Callista had provided him was doing an adequate job of keeping him dry, the material hadn’t been designed as water-resistant, unlike his regular cloak. It had become sodden and heavy, and was ultimately slowing him down. So, after a moment’s deliberation, he removed it, stashing the material on a table nearby. The cloak was more for distorting his silhouette than anything else, and there was nothing on this island that was able to see him with eyes.

Plus, he was chilled to the bone anyway.

Cloak removed, he set about scaling the lighthouse machinery; finding a door that led to a precarious-looking catwalk. Said catwalk led nowhere, and Garrett took a half-second to process why on earth somebody would construct it.

Dunwall, he had learned, was a city that constructed many things for no apparent reason. He’d learned not to question it.

The lighthouse still stretched above him; he turned his attention to scaling it higher. The stone – his _prize_ in this entirely chaotic week – was finally within reach.

The lightning flashed, and he flinched, slipping slightly on the wet metal. Thankfully, it didn’t strike the tower, and he gripped the metal strut tightly for a few seconds. This close to the tower’s peak, if a wave hit now, there was a likelihood of a bad result for him.

With that in mind, he moved faster, ignoring the ache in his bones and the pounding of his head, throwing the Claw to aid him in ascending higher.

Eventually, he reached the top of the lighthouse, and the light itself.

How Havelock had gotten up here was a question Garrett would never find the answer for.

The light room was small, cramped, and barely able to fit two people side by side. It was bathed in the ethereal blue hue of the Primal stone – a stone that Garrett was finally able to lay his eyes upon.

The first thing that struck him about it was how _small_ it was. The main stone – secreted away in his own City – was about the size of the palm of his hand. There had been a small chunk missing, but Garrett had attributed it to the shard that was embedded somewhere within his right eye. The piece in front of him was about the size of a cut diamond – similar in size to the stones inlaid in the famed Serendi jewellery (which Garrett was now the proud owner of).

He took a step towards it, trying to gauge the best way to retrieve it, but had to stop when a shard of hot, white pain skewered through his head. He fell to his knees, handing coming up to clutch at his skull, breath hissing through his teeth.

_It has seen so much,_ Erin’s voice whispered in his ear. _It does not want to return to the whole._

“It’s going to have to,” Garrett managed, forcing himself upright on shaking limbs. Every movement caused agony on his brain, but he held himself steady, hand gripping the metal railing with a white-knuckled grip.

The stone was suspended above the light itself, somehow. If Garrett had been so inclined, he probably could have found the whale oil that powered it, but causing shipwrecks wasn’t really high on his priority list right now.

Somewhere, outside, the thunder rumbled, and brought with it the distant sound of voices that barely carried above the wind.

_“- no idea – the city!-“_

_“-your fault- everything has come to nothing!”_

Garrett recognised the voices – Corvo and Havelock. He didn’t have time to attempt to work out what was happening beneath him, however. He could feel the metal trembling beneath his feet, and knew it would only be a matter of seconds before the lighthouse purged itself again. Up here, he had no protection, and he wasn’t trusting the Outsider or anything else to have provided him with a means of doing so.

So, before he could tell himself this was probably the worst decision, and before the pain in his head could bring him down for good, he reached out and grasped the Primal stone. If he had been paying attention, he would have noticed that, at the same exact moment, a bolt of lightning struck the tower’s peak.

_Truly, Garrett,_ Erin’s voice whispered, in the moment of blissful, dark silence that followed. _I am sorry for what comes next._

He wasn’t given the chance to process the words. He wasn’t given a chance to do anything at all.

After that brief, dark moment, Garrett’s world shattered into a thousand, bright blue pieces.

                                                                         

* * *

 

Corvo didn’t necessarily find himself envying Garrett’s route up the lighthouse, but when he encountered a creature almost two minutes after separating from the man, he had a brief moment to reflect that his own route wasn’t necessarily the easier one.

Said creature was facing away from him, standing and looking outward across the fortress, unperturbed by the precarious drop in front of it, or the wind that was buffeting them both. He briefly wondered whether the creature was emulating the person it had once been, watching over the lighthouse but not understanding why.

_Not once had he lost a sword fight,_ the Heart whispered, and Corvo felt a pang of sympathy for the man now consumed by the Primal. He hadn’t been defeated in a fair fight. No, he’d been consumed in a circumstance beyond his control, had been a loyal soldier until he’d been unwittingly betrayed, _just_ when he’d likely thought the time of betrayal and hardship had been over.

It was too risky to pass the creature by, up here. Corvo was also considering their route back. Any threat would needed to be removed.

He reached behind him, grasped the bow given to him by Garrett. Unfolded it, wincing at the creak it made, before carefully selecting an arrow. While Garrett had given simple instructions on which arrow was which, there were also several others in the quiver that he’d not explained. After a few seconds search, he found the one he was looking for – two parallel lines all the way around the arrow’s shaft.

Garrett had said a sawtooth arrow wasn’t enough to kill the creatures. Corvo, however, didn’t need to kill this one. Only unbalance it. The bow was powerful, more so than his own crossbow, and he carefully took aim at the creature, trying to push the thoughts of the man it used to be aside.

The arrow flew true, striking the creature in the middle of its back. True to form, it stumbled forwards, and found itself stepping onto nothing, careening towards an abyss with nothing but rocks and water at the bottom of it. Its screeches were lost to the wind, and Corvo soon turned away.

He was soon at the doorway to the lighthouse interior, glad to be out of the rain and the wind and the chill of the storm outside. Water dripped off his coat, sounding painfully loud to his ears, but it probably made no louder a noise than his own footsteps.

He found himself inside an atrium, gazing onto a burnished gold statue of Hiram Burrows himself. Corvo took a moment to wonder what had become of the man, before concluding that Havelock and the others had probably had him killed during his and Garrett’s foray into the Flooded District. Burrows would have been able to corroborate Corvo’s innocence, after all.

Funny, how the man who’d condemned him had fallen foul of those who’d disbelieved the same condemnation.

The statue was not the only occupant of the room – two creatures lurked beneath it. One of them used to be an Overseer, Corvo saw; the mask that adorned the man’s face was still strapped to the creature, metal painfully cutting into its skull.

Corvo tried to distance himself, this time, as he reached into the quiver and selected another arrow. Explosive. He’d only seen them used once, when Garrett had fired upon a swarm of rats inside the hotel near the Golden Cat. The arrow was slightly heavier than the sawtooth, the head slightly larger and faintly glowing. He wondered what the compound inside it was.

Still, it consumed the creatures fairly well, and the explosion was rather well-contained. Corvo was glad his aim was true.

He moved to the end of the corridor, into the atrium proper, just in time to see a whisper of movement on the level above him. Something dark, moving away from the balcony above him.

Garrett had gone up the outside of the lighthouse. There was no way he would have come in here, not when the stone lay several storeys above.

There was only one other viable option. And while Corvo wanted to run, to chase down what was likely Havelock, he couldn’t. Not if there were creatures lurking on the floor above. Not if he could potentially danger Emily.

So, as much as it pained him to do it, he moved slowly, stowing away Garrett’s bow and drawing his sword.

He climbed the stairs slowly, circling round the atrium and keeping a careful eye on where he’d last seen movement. He gripped the sword tightly in his right hand, and when he came to the top of the staircase he found himself inside a room, dominated by a large table.

A decanter of whiskey sat on it, along with three empty glasses. It appeared the remaining Loyalists hadn’t even had the time for a celebratory drink before everything had gone to shit. Considering the last drink Corvo had been given, he wouldn’t be at all surprised if it were poisoned, anyway.

The main room had a pair of side rooms, Corvo checked them both and found them empty. The second had a mattress, and a drawing lay on the floor next to it. Emily’s.

The drawing depicted Emily, Corvo, and another, blurred figure. It was unfinished – the crayon she had been using to draw it was broken, as if it had been trodden under a careless foot.

She had been taken out of this room, and taken out quickly.

There was only one way out of the lighthouse at this point, and that was outside into the pouring rain. Corvo didn’t bother with care – he _knew_ Emily was alive, and if she was outside, she was unsafe. He could see the blue light still streaming from the lighthouse’s peak now.

He was not going to lose her here.

He raced up the stairs, the chill of the rain outside stunning him for a moment, before he spotted two figures on a perilous catwalk that lead to nowhere. One was tall, male, dressed in a blue military coat. The other was small, female, wearing white.

Emily was fighting Havelock; Corvo had to turn his gaze away in order to safely make his way across the rain- and windswept catwalk before him. He raced up the stairs, sword in hand, through a machine room of sorts, and then out onto the catwalk.

A gunshot whistled through the air, coinciding with a crackle of lightning nearby. A bullet whizzed out of the darkness, impacting on his chest, somewhere just below his right collarbone. The force of hit made him spin, made him fall, and sent his sword skittering away into the machine room somewhere.

Corvo had been shot before – it was the hazard ever-present in his life and profession. He’d never quite gotten over the shock of it, no matter how many times it happened.

He gasped, rolling over, hand coming to cover the wound on his chest. He forced himself to sit up, leaning against the doorframe, and turned to look at the man who had fired the gun.

Havelock was holding Emily firmly to his chest, gun outstretched towards Corvo. And while Corvo’s heart _soared_ to see her alive, it also plummeted when he saw Havelock’s face.

“No further, Corvo!” the Admiral shouted, above the wailing of the wind and the rumble of the thunder. “Or I jump, and she comes with me!”

Corvo’s breath hitched in his throat; he forced himself to his feet, leaning his good shoulder against the doorframe. He felt weak, suddenly; his adrenaline not yet fully kicking in to combat the hole in his right side.

“Admiral!” he called, something desperate in his voice, as he saw the wide-eyed _fear_ on Emily’s face. “Please! You have no idea what you’re doing! You’re going to destroy the city!”

“And who’s fault would that be?!” Havelock yelled back, gun swinging carelessly in his hand. “Because of _you_ and that _rat filth._ Everything has come to nothing! _You_ have brought destruction upon this city!"

It was in that moment that Corvo realised Havelock had lost his mind. And who wouldn’t have, considering the horrors that had awaited them on the Island tonight? Havelock had placed the stone into the lighthouse, and had expected prosperity, _order,_ everything promised to him by Sokolov’s mislead interpretations. Instead, he’d been granted a prime seat in witnessing every other person around him change into a formless, nameless horror. He’d spent _hours_ up here, no way down and no way of fighting his way out, only able to watch as everything he’d worked for crumbled around him.

It was no wonder he blamed Corvo and Garrett.

“We can still fix it!” Corvo called back, attempting to take a step forward; he froze when Havelock moved back a half-pace, closer to the edge of the catwalk. “It can still be undone!”

The catwalk rattled beneath him. He and Havelock both had a moment to glance at each other, recognising the signs.

Lightning struck the tower, and Corvo was moving, out into the light, left hand raised, Havelock be _damned-_

When the light went suddenly, mysteriously dark.

_Garrett._

He’d made it. He’d retrieved the stone.

Corvo’s face was split by a disbelieving smile, almost at odds with the situation he was in. The smile, however, quickly faded, when the lighthouse _exploded_ in a wave of blue light. He flinched, raising his left hand, the brand stuttering with white light for a moment, but the wave passed harmlessly over them.

In the distance, in the fortress far below them, Corvo heard a myriad of shrieks. Tiny dots of blue light exploded, rising to meet the light above them.

The creatures were being destroyed, and returned to the source of their creation.

A rumble above him caused him to snap his gaze upwards once more; just in time to see a dark figure plummeting towards them.

Garrett’s limp form landed squarely on the catwalk, halfway between Havelock and himself. For a moment, Corvo thought him dead – _there was no way he could survive that fall –_ but then the man heaved himself into a sitting position, limbs shaking with the effort.

Garrett had lost his cloak somewhere, Corvo didn’t know where. Didn’t care to think where, not when he saw the condition the man was in. Every patch of exposed skin was bathed in blue light – it emerged between clenched fingers and streamed from his right eye – and his face was contorted in agony.

The wind howled around him, as if it were reacting to the force swirling around Garrett’s body.

And then, Garrett convulsed, expelling a combination of bright blue light and dark red blood; it trickled from his eyes, ears, nose, even his mouth, Corvo saw. A keening wail rose in the man’s throat, but was abruptly cut off, replaced by something _new._

Garrett spoke. He did not, however, speak alone. When he opened his mouth, a myriad of voices poured out, each one rising above the other, clamouring in a contest to be the most heard. Some of it was incoherent, mixed in with Garrett’s own screaming pain, but some things Corvo did make out.

The first was a voice, male, an accent Corvo didn’t recognise.

_“Builds your roofs of dead wood,”_ Garrett and the voice chanted. _“Builds your walls of dead stone. Builds your dreams of dead thoughts. Comes crying laughing shrieking back to life, takes what you steal, and pulls the skins from your dead bones shrieking.”_

He convulsed again; the voice faded, replaced by another. A female voice, tinged with anger and sorrow.

_“Old men- bitter and greedy! Fighting over power like dogs with a bone! I will not be pulled! I will not be pushed by anyone! I have the Primal now!”_

With a jolt, Corvo realised he was hearing the voice of Erin for the first time.

It was then he realised what was actually occurring before them.

The Outsider had needed Garrett to get to the Primal. He hadn’t been able to reach the stone himself. Garrett was one of the so-called ‘Attuned’; suited to finding and withstanding the force that now flowed through him. And while the Outsider hadn’t been able to reach the stone itself, he was able to reach Garrett.

The Outsider had needed a conduit. Something he could reach _through_ to regain the Primal. And now Garrett was having to bear the burden of the Primal passing through him to rejoin the Outsider.

_“Before death came, the liars were made to feast upon the hands of the thieves, and the thieves were made to ingest the tongues of their liar brothers.”_ The new voice was male, and echoed from somewhere within Garrett’s body. “A _nd we praised the Master Builder for his judgements.”_

Garrett had mentioned the Master Builder as a deity in his world. Was he reciting stricture? Was the Primal connected to the other divinities of Garrett’s world?

Havelock was shaking, watching Garrett with wide and horrified eyes. His grip on Emily had tightened; Corvo debated blinking to the Admiral’s side and wrestling Emily from him while he was distracted, but decided against it. Their position was too precarious, his shoulder was making it difficult for him to concentrate, and he wasn’t entirely certain the light streaming from Garrett would be entirely harmless.

Garrett’s hands raised themselves to his face – Corvo wondered if the man had gained some control – and he rocked back and forth, cradling his skull as the light continued to emanate from his eyes and skin, as the blood continued to pour from him.

The next voice was his own, mingled with Erin’s and someone else’s; Corvo didn’t recognise it.

_“Admiral Havelock has seen more corpses than the rest of them put together.”_

Havelock flinched; his pistol turned to Garrett, but he didn’t fire.

Emily struggled in his grip, but he held fast. Her expression was still fearful, now tinged with curiosity and terror underneath it all.

Corvo had no idea how he was going to explain this.

After what had felt like an eternity, but had likely been no more than thirty seconds, the light faded. Garrett’s shaking form collapsed onto the catwalk.

He spoke for a final time; the voice that joined his chilled Corvo to the core.

_“Find Emily,”_ gasped the dying voice of Jessamine Kaldwin. _“Protect her. You’re the only one. You’ll know what to do. Won’t you? Corvo?”_

With Jessamine Kaldwin’s final words – words that only Corvo alone had heard – Garrett fell still.

“Mother?” Emily said, and the sound of her voice almost crushed Corvo’s heart. Desperate innocence, tinged with a _hope_ only a child could have.

“Admiral,” Corvo tried again, voice shaky above the sounds of the dying storm. “It’s over. You can stop.”

“You-“ Havelock began. “You don’t understand! The things I’ve done- the things I’ve had to do! There’s no place for me back there. Not after this. Not for me-“

“Admiral-“ Corvo began, stepping forward.

“No!” Havelock shouted, appearing to come to a decision. “It ends here. We _all_ end here.”

The next few moments happened in slow motion.

Havelock, with Emily still in his arms, fell backwards off the catwalk. Corvo had a split second to register the surprise, _fear,_ and horror on her face, before it disappeared from view.

He was aware that he was shouting – _screaming –_ as he raced forwards, thoughts of everything else but Emily forgotten as he scrambled towards the edge. Jessamine’s words echoed in his head. _You’re the only one._

He stumbled, falling forwards, skidding to the edge of the catwalk as-

_Thunk!_

The sound of metal hitting metal broke the fog in Corvo’s mind. It took him a moment to register the source of the noise; found it in a metal device embedded in the strut of the catwalk below him.

It was Garrett’s Claw.

Attached to the Claw, was a rope. And attached to the bottom of that, Corvo could see a small, dark figure enveloping a smaller, lighter figure.

Corvo’s heart stuttered in his chest. While he’d raced to the edge, _Garrett_ had moved too – had rolled off the catwalk and fallen. Had tossed the Claw _upwards_ while he’d fallen downwards, and had caught Emily at the pivotal moment.

And now they dangled over an abyss, suspended by a thin rope.

Havelock was gone, consumed by the waves far below.

Despite the wound in his shoulder, despite the agonising pain it caused him to do it, Corvo heaved on the rope, pulling the pair up. He hauled them over the edge of the catwalk; Emily scrambled to his side as he pulled Garrett’s limp form onto the metal. His eyes were closed, his face was pale, and he was shivering. He didn’t respond to Corvo’s light tap on his cheek, other than a faint flicker behind his eyelids. Corvo also saw his shoulder was bleeding again – Emily’s white outfit had been streaked with red.

When he was certain of Garrett’s relatively stable condition, he allowed himself to turn to Emily, to remove his mask and envelop her in his arms.

“Corvo!” she cried, small figure crumpling into his. “I knew you’d come- knew you’d both come.”

She pulled back from him, tear-streaked face looking at his own, a nervous expression upon it.

“Is it going to be okay now?” she asked. “Will I be Empress?”

Corvo smiled, a gentle laugh rising from his stomach.

“Yes,” he said, settling back on the catwalk, Emily sitting beside him. The storm was clearing; the sun was breaking over the horizon, far away.

“Everything is going to be okay,” he told her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact this chapter is twice as long as my dissertation RIP me.
> 
> The Light at the End was actually really hard for me to write, for some reason. Especially with the modifications I made.  
> Speaking of - the High Chaos aesthetic of the Island fit so much more with what I needed for this story, hence that. The ending will totally be low chaos, though.
> 
> Also, anybody catch the not-so-subtle Old Thief references in there? Hell yeah - I got the original games and while I'm still playing through the first I'm totally in love with them.
> 
> Okay let's be real here - I actually thought Dishonored 2 would come out before this chapter at one point. ALSO DISHONORED 2 WHO'S HYPED FOR THAT /YEAH/.
> 
> We have one final chapter. An epilogue, of sorts.  
> And it definitely won't be 9 months before I upload that. I literally have 2 exams at the end of this month and then I'm finished with university forever!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Please tell me you’re not wearing that.”  
> Garrett looked down at his outfit, a frown creasing his features.  
> “What’s wrong with it?”  
> Corvo didn’t seem to have a good answer for a while.  
> “It’s…” he began, “not exactly appropriate.”  
> “It’s the only thing I have,” Garrett retorted, looking down again. He supposed thieving gear wasn’t the best thing to wear to a coronation, but Corvo was going to have another thing coming if he thought Garrett was going to change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whats this?! Not even a month?! You lucky things you.  
> Thanks to everyone for their congratulations on my dissertation - I actually got 82%, which is a high 1st! (I'm basically getting a 1st Class Degree, I'm pretty sure).
> 
> Anyway, I'll get onto the longer, soppier stuff at the end of this chapter. AT THE END OF THIS FIC.
> 
> ["an epilogue" she says, and writes 13000 words]

Garrett awoke to the unfamiliar feeling of a soft bed and clean, warm linen. For a while, he lay still, embracing the feeling, not wanting to open his eyes and relinquish the first true peace he’d had in a very long time. But, relinquish he did, forcing his eyes to open with some difficulty, and he raised his head.

He was in a large, exquisitely furnished room. It was minimalist in design – something that seemed to be a general feature of Dunwall housing – and there was a lack of anything personal on the various chests and tables. Several crates were piled into one corner, next to the bed, on Garrett’s right. He could also see an outline on the wall where a painting had once hung; he briefly wondered why it had been removed.

The room was light, spacious, and had two doors. One of them was open; Garrett could see some sort of office behind it. The other was closed, but he guessed it led out into a corridor. A window to his left was open; sunlight was streaming in through it, bringing with it the sharp tang of salt-sea air and the sounds of seabirds.

He was in Dunwall Tower, he realised. The architecture was familiar.

“You’re awake,” a voice said from beside the window, and Garrett turned to see a tall figure extract itself from a chair near the bed.

Garrett had a half-second to wonder just _how much_ time had passed while he’d been asleep, the change that had come over Corvo. Simply put, he looked _happy._ The tension that had been prevalent in his face, a tightness in his eyes and mouth and shoulders, gone; the tiredness that had hovered around him, also gone. He was dressed in clean clothes, and his right arm was in a sling; a bandage poked out from underneath his shirt.

“How-“ Garrett began, but found his voice rasping and hoarse; it soon dissolved into a cough. Corvo moved, crossing to the nightstand by the bed, picking up a glass just of water. He swiftly poured a glass, and when Garrett’s cough subsided, he reached over, gently helping Garrett into a sitting position.

As he drank the water, Garrett became aware of how much that movement had caused him to hurt. Every part of his body ached, like he’d been crushed by a few tons of rubble several times over. It was most prominent in his left shoulder and leg, but that was to be expected. Slightly unexpected was the slow throb in his ribcage.

“How long have I been asleep?” he finally managed, setting the glass down on the nightstand.

“Two days,” Corvo replied, drawing his chair closer to the bed and sitting down again. “I was wondering if you would wake before Emily, today.”

Corvo nodded his head towards the end of the bed – a couch of sorts resided at the end of it, and Garrett could see a small, dark-haired figure curled under a blanket.

“She has a gift for you,” Corvo said. “Won’t let me see it at all, but she said she wasn’t going to leave until you woke and she could give it to you.”

Garrett wasn’t quite sure how to respond to that, so he turned his attention on the room he was in, instead.

“These are my chambers,” Corvo said, forestalling any question Garrett might have had. “Or, they were. Apparently Burrows took offense to my design choices and had all my things put away and the room sealed.” He gestured to the crates. “I suppose I should be happy he didn’t burn it all immediately.”

“Beware of spiders in the wardrobe,” Garrett told him, recalling his return to Stonemarket after a year’s absence.

“How-“ Garrett began, before breaking off, attempting to find the right words to the question that was forming in his mind.

“What happened to your arm?” he settled on an easier question, instead, shifting in the bed slightly.

“A parting gift from the late Admiral Havelock,” Corvo replied.

“Oh,” Garrett frowned. “I don’t remember that.”

“It happened when you were scaling the lighthouse,” Corvo said. “And after that you were… busy,” he finished.

Garrett snorted. That was one way of putting it.

“Do you remember what happened?” Corvo asked, something like a hushed, worried, curiosity in his voice. Clearly he’d been wanting to ask the question for the past two days. “What- what _did_ happen?”

Garrett was silent for a moment. He raised his left hand, examining it for a moment, taking in the faded scar on the back and the faint specks of dried blood that still remained under a fingernail.

“I- I picked up the stone,” he began, closed his fist and let it drop onto the bed. “And I _felt_ the Outsider. He- I don’t know, he reached through me, maybe. Took the stone from me. And- and I could feel _everything._ Every brick, every stone, every _person,_ of your city – and mine – they were all crying out and _hurting._ I couldn’t do anything except listen. It-“ he broke off as the memories surfaced clearer. “It _hurt._ Like someone stabbing a knife into _everywhere,_ and twisting.”

He said the last part quieter, looked down at the bedspread.

“I heard things. Saw things. Half of them, I don’t even recognise. But it was all _there,_ and all I could do was watch.”

“You said things, too,” Corvo prompted quietly. Garrett nodded; took a slow, slightly shuddered breath.

“They _all_ wanted to speak. All had things to say. I couldn’t stop them. If-“ he broke off. “If that’s what the Outsider feels all the time, I think I can understand why he lives in the Void, alone.”

The Outsider had told them he was alone in the Void. But after what Garrett had seen, what he’d heard, what he’d _felt;_ in comparison to the pain and the sorrow and the sheer feeling of countless people all clamouring for attention, that inescapable lonliness was preferable. It was the only salvation he could seek.

Corvo nodded, sitting back in the chair, an unreadable expression on his face. Garrett took another breath, tried to put something lighter in his tone.

“It’s funny,” he said. “Now I try and think of it, it’s- it’s like seeing it through someone else’s eyes. I see it happening – I _remember_ and _feel_ it happening – but it feels like it was a long time ago, or even someone else.”

He shrugged, wincing at the faint twinge of his left shoulder.

“I don’t remember much of after,” he admitted; frowned for a moment. “I – fell?” he hazarded, recalling something of the sort. Cold wind whistling around him, his outstretched arms reaching for something – _white?_

“Emily fell?” he tried again.

“Havelock leapt off the catwalk,” Corvo said, something carefully neutral in his voice, “and took Emily with him. I- I tried to get there, but- but _you-_ “ he broke off, running a hand through his hair. “You saved her life. Leapt off after her and _caught_ her.”

Garrett was silent for a moment.

“Well, that doesn’t sound like me at all,” he eventually said, and Corvo laughed, a wide smile crossing his features. Garrett offered him a small one in return.

The silence that settled between them was somewhat comfortable, in its own way. A moment of peace after the relative chaos of the past week.

“Emily,” Corvo said suddenly, admonishingly. “Weren’t you told it was rude to listen to other people’s conversations?”

“No!” came a small, protesting voice from the couch, as Emily sat up and faced Corvo. “Mother said that it was _polite_ to listen when other people are talking!”

“Yes, but not by pretending to be asleep, “ Corvo said, as Emily stood and faced him, hands on her hips, and a petulant expression on her face.

“Well-“ she said. “Well, I’m going to be Empress, and if I say it’s okay, then it’s okay. I’m allowed to make the rules.”

“She has you there,” Garrett said.

“Don’t encourage her,” Corvo said immediately, and Garrett snorted.

“Garrett! You’re awake!” Emily cried, as if she’d spotted him for the first time. She rushed past Corvo, throwing herself onto the bed and wrapping Garrett in a tight hug. The action surprised him for a moment, but he slowly reached up to gently return it.

“Ow,” he settled on, as several more hurting parts of his body made themselves aware.

“Emily, be careful,” Corvo said. “You know he’s still hurt.”

“Sorry,” she said, sheepish, and pulled back.

“It’s fine,” Garrett said. “Although, can either of you tell me why my ribs hurt so badly?”

“You _did_ fall from the top of the lighthouse,” Corvo said.

“Okay,” Garrett replied. “ _That_ sounds like me.”

Emily giggled, before suddenly moving off the bed.

“I have something for you,” she announced, dashing back to the couch she’d been sleeping on.

“So I’m told,” Garrett said, watching as she retrieved a piece of paper from underneath the blanket.

“Corvo!” Emily protested. “I _said_ it was a surprise!”

“Oh,” Corvo said, quietly. “Sorry.”

Emily huffed, but presented the piece of paper to Garrett with a somewhat nervous expression. He took it, painfully aware of the two pairs of eyes watching him.

It was a drawing, one drawn with the utmost care and attention that a ten-year-old could give it. Three figures adorned the paper; one was Emily, another Corvo, and the third was a small, dark figure.

“Is that me?” he asked, pointing at the figure. Emily nodded enthusiastically.

“See, I even got your eyes right!” she said, gesturing to the one dark, one light eye his figure possessed.

“No wonder you wanted another black crayon,” Corvo mused, as Garrett raked his gaze over the drawing again.

“Why-“ he began, “why am I _flying?”_

“You’re not,” Emily said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “You’re falling.”

She reached over and turned the drawing in his hands.

“Oh,” Garrett said, seeing now that the drawing was apparently depicting his and Emily’s plunge from the lighthouse. She’d even drawn a rope attaching him to Corvo.

“Do you like it?” she asked, and Garrett looked up, turning the drawing over in his hands.

“I do,” he confirmed – what else was he to say? She was a _child_ – “I think it’ll look very nice in my tower.”

A grin split Emily’s face, and she leaned forward to hug him again; gentler, this time, but no less forceful.

“You live in a tower?” she asked, and Garrett inwardly regretted mentioning it for the myriad of questions he was about to endure. “Is it like this one?”

“No,” Garrett replied. “It’s a clock tower. I keep only my prized possessions there.”

“Is it the Dunwall clock tower?” Emily asked, “in- in-“ she frowned for a moment, trailing off.

“The Estate District,” Corvo supplied.

Garrett recalled seeing the clock tower in question upon their excursion to the Boyle party. It had looked more like an overgrown water tower with a clock pasted on it than any clock tower he knew. Dunwall did love its metal constructions, however – it seemed ready to tear down anything old and replace it with something new. Back home, things were just built on top of, and around, the older things.

“No,” he said. “It’s very far away from here. It- I’d draw it for you, if I could, but-“

“I could get things for you!” Emily exclaimed, practically leaping off the bed as she did so.

“Perhaps later,” Corvo said, as the door on the far side of the room opened. It revealed Callista, who stepped into the room, a relieved expression on her face when she saw Garrett sitting up in the bed.

“Garrett,” she said. “It’s good to see you awake at last. We’d been worrying ever since Samuel brought you all back from the island.”

Garrett had a momentary flash of relief upon hearing Samuel’s name. Something at the back of his mind had worried for him when they’d left him at the Kingsparrow shore, but the boatman had apparently done his job of ensuring the island had remained isolated.

“I think it’s time for somebody’s lessons,” Corvo said, turning his gaze onto Emily.

“But-“ Emily began; Corvo held up a hand to silence her.

“Garrett will still be here when you’re done,” he said. “Your coronation is in two days. You need to learn what you’re supposed to do.”

Emily clearly wasn’t going to win this battle, and she huffed, slowly turning towards the door.

“Go and find your books,” Callista said, gently. “I’ll bring us breakfast and we can eat before we get to work.”

“I’ll see you later, then,” Emily said, and the sheer tone of _defeat_ in her voice made Garrett snuff a quiet laugh as she left.

“I should go tell Sokolov you’re awake,” Corvo said, rising. “No doubt he’ll want to check on you – I can get _us_ some food, too.” He crossed the room, to the door, and disappeared behind it.

“Callista,” Garrett called, before she could leave. His gaze turned back to the drawing on the bed. “Am I expected to attend the coronation?”

“Oh, yes,” Callista said. “You saved Lady Emily’s life – you’re one of the guests of honour.”

Garrett swallowed the lump that had suddenly risen in his throat.

“Right,” he said. “Well.”

He doubted they were going to let him get out of it. And the Outsider, the black-eyed bastard, would probably enjoy it _far too much_ to pull him out of Dunwall before the event. The Outsider had said he would return Garrett home, but he’d never specified _when._

He looked up to Callista. “Could I trouble you to do something for me?”

* * *

 

It was stange, how a place Garrett had visited on a dark, cold night could look different in the sun.

Sokolov had declared him fit to move, and Emily had thus taken it upon herself to give Garrett the grand tour of Dunwall Tower. She’d had no lessons for today, apparently.

He didn’t have the heart to tell her he’d already seen a lot of it before.

She’d spent the morning taking Garrett to the myriad of rooms in the Tower – he’d found the gallery interesting simply for the amount of money he could make from it – and they’d met up with Corvo (and some other familiar faces) for lunch. Corvo himself had said he’d been unable to attend Emily’s tour because he’d had to deal with other, security-based aspects concerning the organisation of a coronation, a day from now. Garrett had wondered if he’d said no just to torture Garrett with being left alone with an exuberant ten-year-old.

During lunch (Garrett had been far to preoccupied with trying to figure out how edible the food was, much to everyone’s amusement), Emily had stepped up to Corvo’s side and whispered something in his ear. Whatever had been said, it made Corvo pause and turn to face her. His reply had been too quiet for Garrett to hear, but Corvo had momentarily glanced in his direction. After that, there had been something _different_ while they’d finished their food; Corvo and Emily more subdued than before.

After lunch, the pair remained behind while the others filtered out of the room, bidding the three of them farewell as they did so.

“We- we were going to visit Jessamine,” Corvo said quietly. “The- the former Empress. Emily wondered if you wanted to come with us.”

Garrett had never known the Empress. He’d heard of her – from Corvo, from Emily, from Daud and his Whalers, from the scattered graffiti and conversations around the city. He’d seen a statue of her in the Flooded District, a painting of her in the Tower and had heard brief, vague descriptions from the Eye. He knew a lot _about_ her, but would never meet her. She’d been buried here at the Tower, he’d learned, but this was the first time either Corvo or Emily had mentioned it. Maybe they’d wanted to wait until he’d woken, although he wasn’t entirely sure why.

Garrett wasn’t prone to sentiment. The dead were the dead, and while he understood other people had a need to find _closure_ by visiting the dead, he hadn’t been so convinced. After Orion and the Graven, and the creatures he’d encountered in Moira and beneath it, he’d wondered if death could truly be defined as when your body stopped functioning, or just when your soul left what was now nothing more than a moving husk that had once held a person.

Closure came from the mind, from yourself, not from a headstone or an urn.

But that didn’t mean he would begrudge others’ beliefs. He may not understand the need, but he understood the beliefs beneath it, the respect that he could easily provide for those who had come before him.

Your reputation was only as good as those who cared to know of it, after all.

Garrett looked between the pair – the sad, hesitant expression on Emily’s face, and the better-hidden but almost _lost_ one on Corvo’s – and he thought he understood. They needed last a memory of Jessamine Kaldwin that wasn’t one painted blood-red, stained the colour of her last moments.

“I’ll come,” he said, quietly; noticed the flicker of almost relief on Corvo’s face and the tension in Emily’s shoulders decrease.

Jessamine was buried under a gazebo in the grounds; Garrett recalled seeing it in the distance the night he and Corvo had set out to bring down the Lord Regent, Burrows.

The three of them were silent, gazing down at the headstone that proclaimed Jessamine as _Mother to Emily, Empress to Us All._

“We met here,” Corvo said suddenly, breaking the silence that had permeated around them. “I remember the day her father – your grandfather, Emily, Emperor Euhorn – introduced us. I was eighteen years old, and it was my first day in Dunwall. She-“ he broke off, something small and sad in his voice. “She was _nice_ to me. She didn’t need to be – I was only there under orders, and I was a complete stranger to her. Probably a _dirty_ one, too. But it wasn’t in her nature to be unkind, or rude; she was- she was just _kind.”_

“She was nice to everybody,” Emily said; she grasped onto Corvo’s hand. “Even when people weren’t nice to her.”

Corvo nodded; Garrett saw him give Emily’s hand a small squeeze.

_She died here,_ Erin’s voice whispered in his ear. _She died still thinking the best in people._

Garrett stepped forward, coming to stand next to the pair. He’d never visited a loved one’s grave before – had never had anyone to visit. He didn’t have words to say, didn’t have a memory of Jessamine he could recount, or anything he could say that would likely make it easier for Emily and Corvo.

He reached into one of his pockets, and pulled out a coin, before crouching and placing it on the top of the headstone.

“In my city,” he said, stepping back, “we don’t have many traditions. If I’m honest, I don’t really know what you’re supposed to do with the dead. But in one of the older parts of the city is a grave; we call it the Watchman’s Grave. People like me leave coins on it, for good luck. It- I know it’s not the same, but- it’s probably the most appropriate thing I know. I-“

He broke off, looked down for a moment, wondering if he’d made the situation worse.

“I didn’t know her,” he said finally. “But I think she would be glad to know you’re both okay. And, well- maybe she’ll be kind enough to give me a little luck.”

He was surprised when Emily reached out for his hand, too. He gently grapsed it, and after that they said nothing more.

* * *

 

He awoke suddenly; the room was dark, silent, empty. Garrett had always been a somewhat light sleeper, perhaps even more so after his encounter with the Primal. He sat upright, wincing at the sudden movement, scanning the room. He had no weapons nearby, nothing to defend himself with, and no inclination of where Corvo was.

“Be calm,” a voice said; muffled, curt, _familiar._ “I am not here to hurt you.”

Garrett picked out a shadow in the darkness, silhouetted against what little light there was coming in through the window. They were tall, dressed in dark clothing, and masked.

“Thomas,” he realised, as the Whaler stepped forward. He appeared to be alone, although Garrett couldn’t fathom why the man would be here.

“We found this when we were sweeping the district,” Thomas said, placing a folded bundle down onto the end of the bed. “I thought I would return it to you. As thanks.”

“Thanks for what?” Garrett asked, hands curling in the bedspread, as he leaned forward to examine the item. Thomas had risked a lot just to return his cloak.

The shadow turned away, Garrett saw him shrug a shoulder.

“For sparing the men. For the advice, maybe. For- for Daud,” he added quietly.

Garrett didn’t speak, merely nodded his head.

“Will you be there tomorrow?” he asked, suddenly. “At the coronation.”

He wasn’t fearful of what would happen. The Whalers were assassins, yes, but they weren’t reckless child-killers. They were also still reeling from the loss of someone who’d led them for several years. Someone who’d almost led them to ruin. They probably needed this coronation to go well just as much as Corvo and the rest of the city – perhaps the empire – did.

Thomas’ head was bowed, and for a moment he didn’t reply.

“If we are,” he said eventually, carefully, “it will not be to fight. Only to watch.”

Garrett nodded again, partly to himself this time.

“Good luck, Garrett,” Thomas said. “In whichever endeavour you choose next.”

He disappeared, leaving Garrett with a darkened room and the taste of ozone on his tongue, staring at the cloak neatly folded at the bottom of his bed.

* * *

 

“Please tell me you’re not wearing that.”

Garrett looked down at his outfit, a frown creasing his features.

“What’s wrong with it?”

Corvo didn’t seem to have a good answer for a while.

“It’s…” he began, “not exactly appropriate.”

“It’s the only thing I have,” Garrett retorted, looking down again. He supposed thieving gear wasn’t the best thing to wear to a coronation, but Corvo was going to have another thing coming if he thought Garrett was going to change. The coronation itself was going to be bad enough.

“Could you at _least_ leave the weapons behind,” Corvo finally said. “The guards are nervous enough as it is.”

Garrett sighed, slowly removing his bow and quiver; the Claw and his blackjack soon followed it.

“ _You’re_ going armed,” he muttered, somewhat sullenly. He saw Corvo’s gaze flicker to his ankle, where they both knew Garrett’s knife still was, but he didn’t mention it.

“It’s ceremonial dress,” Corvo said, gesturing to the neatly tailored coat he was wearing, and the ornamental belt and scabbard his sword was attached to. “Plus, it’s my _job._ ”

“I have a job too.”

“Garrett, if you so much as _look_ at a nobleman’s purse today I’m going to throw you off this tower myself,” Corvo said.

Garrett fell silent.

Corvo was nervous – Garrett could tell that. Despite the lightness of tone there was a _need_ under his words, a need for today to be _good_ and _right._

“Fine,” he said eventually. “But only today. _Tonight_ you might have trouble stopping me.”

Corvo’s hands dropped from the buttons on his coat; he rested them on the table in front of him.

“I’m going to regret saying this,” he said, “but if you can manage to behave yourself for the coronation, I’ll point out the richest nobles myself. Or, the most obnoxious, at least.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” Garrett told him, as Corvo pulled on a pair of black gloves. He briefly wondered whether it was part of the ceremonial dress he was to wear, or to hide the mark emblazoned on the back of his left hand.

“Lord Protector?” a voice from the door said – the pair turned to see a guard in a similarly ornate outfit – “Master, uh-“

“Just Garrett,” he replied.

“Master Garrett,” the guard amended; Garrett frowned, unsure as to whether he liked the title added to his name. “We need you in the throne room.”

“Time to go, then,” Corvo said, moving toward the door. He paused for a moment. “Could- could you-“

“What now?” Garrett asked.

“ _Maybe_ not look so much like a thief?” Corvo asked. “Would it kill you to take the hood down, or the scarf off?”

Garrett sighed, before reaching up and yanking the leather hood off of his head.

“If you ask me to do anything else, I’m not coming,” he threatened.

Dunwall Tower’s throne room reminded Garrett somewhat of the atrium of the Boyle Manor, or perhaps even the old cathedral in his city’s Old Quarter. It was large, spacious, with high vaulted ceilings and chandeliers, and two floors. The throne resided against the back wall – stairs leading to the second floor were on either side of it, wherein guards, nobles, and servants alike could stand and watch the proceedings below. A carpet ran through the middle of the floor, flanked on either side by guards in ceremonial dress – behind them were an assortment of nobles, all craning their heads to see past the guards.

(They all looked very rich. Garrett could feel his fingers itching to relieve them of their valuables.)

From his position on the higher level, Garrett picked out Sokolov, and the two remaining Boyle sisters (his gut twinged uncomfortably, and he resolved to avoid them for the rest of the day). Across from him, on the balcony level, he saw Piero, Callista and Cecelia – Cecelia gave him a tiny wave when she spotted him, and he nodded in return.

Corvo was stood next to the throne, an Overseer and an Officer of Dunwall’s guard next to him. Garrett presumed the Overseer was actually the new High Overseer, although who that man was, he didn’t know. Hopefully he’d do better than the two who’d preceded him.

Emily was dwarfed by the throne around her, but she was smiling and relaxed; if she had any nerves, she hid them well. As ever, she was dressed in white – a slightly fancier outfit than the one she’d worn in their week at the Hound Pits – and the bow that adorned her hair had a small, black pin attached to it. It looked expensive, and old; a family heirloom, perhaps.

Garrett had never been to a coronation before, so what followed was equal parts boring and interesting. He was never one to back down from learning new things, but he doubted he needed to know the ins-and-outs of the Abbey of the Everyman’s Seven Strictures. Still, at least he was relatively hidden, up here; he didn’t need to hide his scepticism too much. Corvo, on the other hand, had to listen to it all stood to attention and with a straight face. _And_ the knowledge that he was technically a heretic, branded with the mark of the deity the Abbey was sworn to destroy.

“Nice to see he’s got something to enjoy, for once,” a voice said in Garrett’s ear; he flinched, turning to see the man who had spoken. He was a guard, a higher-up of some sort who clearly wasn’t on duty during the coronation, with dark brown hair. Garrett would have guessed him around his mid-thirties in age; he also looked somewhat _familiar,_ although Garrett couldn’t place why.

“If anybody deserves it, it’s those two,” the guard continued, nodding to Corvo and Emily, before holding out a hand for Garrett to shake. “Geoff Curnow,” he introduced himself.

“Curnow?” Garrett asked, taking the hand, before realising where he recognised the man. “You’re Callista’s uncle.”

“The same,” the man acknowledged. “I’m also the man who found you in Holger Square.”

Garrett nodded, partly to himself. Corvo had told him that he’d been found by a guard of some sort, and given to the Overseers (and thus placed outside of the Outsider’s reach).

“I expect that was a surprise,” he said, drily, ignoring the dirty look a noblewoman was giving them for talking. He turned his attention back to the coronation.

“Not the strangest surprise I had in that week,” Curnow replied.

Of course – Corvo had put the man into a trash bin.

Their conversation halted just in time for the important part of the coronation – namely, the actual part where Emily was declared Empress.

“I, Aloysius Durant, High Overseer of the Abbey of the Everyman,” proclaimed said Overseer, “on this day, the First Day of the Month of Timber, in the year 1837, do declare Emily Drexel Lela Kaldwin Empress of Dunwall and the Isles. May her reign be long, and may it be prosperous!”

The cheering that followed the announcement was cacophonous – Garrett settled for applauding, even if Curnow next to him gave out a hearty cheer. It also lasted for several minutes; Emily blushed and ducked her head slightly, and while outwardly Corvo merely smiled, Garrett could see the torrent of joy, love, and a small inkling of fear in his stance.

Emily was still young, after all. She wasn’t supposed to be Empress now.

Eventually the room quietened, and the High Overseer stepped up once more to speak.

“It is not tradition during a coronation for an Empress to hand out honours,” Durant began. “However, due to the nature of recent events, an allowance has been made.”

Several whispers broke out among the nobles gathered below Garrett, some elbowed each other, as if they were the ones expecting to receive an honour of some sort. He briefly raised an eyebrow.

“The Empress calls the man known as Garrett to the throne,” Durant called. Garrett froze, slowly turning to face the throne as he felt several pairs of eyes come to land on him.

This had to be a joke. He’d expected _Corvo_ to be called, maybe Sokolov or Piero – hell, even _Callista._ Not him. It was bad enough he’d had to come to the event, but he’d manage to keep himself hidden away. _Now_ he was going to have to parade in front of the entire gathered nobility of Dunwall?

“I think that’s your cue,” Curnow said, gently nudging him out of his stupor.

He moved slowly, aware that every single person in the throne room was watching him do so. His descent down the stairs was somewhat slowed, too – there was a crowd of people on it, and standing for a few hours on a still-healing leg had rendered it stiff and a little painful. He didn’t let it show, however, and was soon standing in front of Emily, Corvo, and Durant.

“My lady,” he said, executing a short bow. If it had been anyone else, he probably wouldn’t have done it, but with the eyes of an entire empire watching him, it would have been far worse if he had _not_ shown some form of respect.

Emily grinned at him, and he found himself easily smiling back, despite the discomfort he was currently experiencing.

“If you could kneel, ser,” Durant said, as a pair of Overseers joined them, one holding a small box, the other a larger one that looked suspiciously like it held a sword.

“Kneel?” Garrett frowned, casting a quick glance to Corvo, who nodded. Corvo wasn’t going to put him in any danger, he reasoned, and so complied, moving slightly stiffly to kneel on his right leg.

“Garrett-“ Durant began, before saying, lowly, “do you have a last name?”

Garrett snorted, and shook his head. “Not one that I remember,” he said eventually.

“Right,” Durant said. Garrett had a moment to wonder whether this was Durant’s first job as the newly-minted High Overseer. They were definitely throwing him in the deep end.

“Ser Garrett,” the High Overseer tried again, reaching into the long box and pulling out a sword – _of course –_ “of the city of-“ he broke off again, looking down at Garrett once more.

“That doesn’t have a name either,” Garrett told him, and he heard Durant huff out a slightly annoyed breath. “Taffer,” he said, suddenly, more on impulse than anything. “Taffer City.”

He saw Corvo squint at him, recognising the word from when Garrett had called him it in the sewers that made Granny Rags’ hideout. It appeared nobody in this world knew what the word meant.

It was childish, he would admit, but worth it.

“Ser Garrett,” Durant said, for the third time, “of Taffer City.” Garrett bowed his head, repressing the snort of laughter that was attempting to force its way out. “By order of Empress Emily Kaldwin, First of Her Name, you are awarded the Dunwall Medal of Valor, of the highest rank, and given freedom of the city of Dunwall. None shall refuse entry to you.”

Garrett glaced up, an incredulous expression crossing his face, as the sword now held by Durant was waved either side of his head.

“This award is given to you for services to the Empire, and it’s Empress. May you wear it with pride,” Durant proclaimed, beckoning Garrett to his feet. The second Overseer stepped forward, and Garrett suddenly found a medal being pinned to his chest.

He looked down at it for a few seconds, before looking back up at Corvo and Emily.

“I-“ he broke off for a second. “Thank you,” he settled on.

He bowed again, stepped to the side, facing the crowd as they applauded him. He had to admit – _maybe_ it didn’t quite feel so bad.

Plus, he’d just been given freedom of the city. That was definitely a mistake on their parts.

The applause that rang out through the hall – and the few cheers from the vague area of Cecelia and Callista – wasn’t quite on the same level as the _roar_ Emily had received, but he was genuinely surprised to receive any applause at all. Word of his so-called “daring leap” off the Kingsparrow Lighthouse had made it around the court like wildfire. Corvo had shared several versions that were wildly inaccurate, including one wherein the Outsider had somehow granted him the ability to fly. Similarly, there was another that said he was part man, part bat.

Thankfully, nobody had personally asked him for the story yet. He wasn’t sure how they would react when he would have to say he didn’t remember.

Maybe they preferred the embezzled versions, anyway.

He was drawn out of his thoughts by movement next to him, and discovered that Emily was moving, starting to walk down the corridor of guards towards the door to the throne room. Corvo gestured at him to follow, and he did, falling in to place beside the man. He attempted to not look at the guards on either side of him, old habits and fears difficult to quell even when his brain told him they weren’t about to suddenly arrest or attempt to kill him.

“Did you have anything to do with this?” he asked Corvo, glancing down at the medal that sparkled in his periphery.

“Maybe,” Corvo said. “It was more Calhoun’s idea.”

“Who?” Garrett asked, frowning.

“The guard from Kingsparrow Island,” Corvo said. “He suggested it when we were coming over here on the boat. I think he’s going to mount the arrow you gave him above his fireplace.”

Garrett huffed out a breath, as they arrived at a set of double doors. Guards on either side of them reached over to open them for Emily and her procession.

They emerged onto a balcony that overlooked the Wrenhaven River, wherein more guards stood to attention, and Garrett was treated to a sight he was certain he would not forget for as long as he lived.

A _city_ of boats lay before them, all moored together in a flotilla, almost an island nation of sorts adorned with lights, streamers, and _people._ Despite their relative distance from the fleet, Garrett could hear the _roar_ of the people aboard it, the shouts and cheers for their new Empress as she became visible to them, likely no more than a small, white pinprick in their view.

To his right, a guard shouted something indiscernible; a squadron of guards on the terrace below them raised a series of rifles and fired into the air. A salute, Garrett realised.

It was answered by the sounds of horns, whistles, drums, and more cheering from the collection of boats below them. The people, having been so downtrodden and desparate for so long, had finally found something _good,_ and they were clinging onto it with the very fiber of their beings.

“I hope they like me,” Emily said, suddenly, sounding somewhat nervous.

“Look at them,” Corvo said, gesturing to the boats. “They already do.”

* * *

 

The air was cool and clear; stars glimmered in the sky above and the moon cast a bright glow on the river below. The mass of boats upon the Wrenhaven cast their own glow, too, as if they were in a contest with the celestial lights above, setting out to prove that their _hope_ and their _love_ was greater than anything the cold, distant stars could produce.

Garrett was on the balcony once more, alone. After the coronation had been several hours of greeting nobles; as a recipient of the Medal of Valor Garrett hadn’t been able to get away. While only few people congratulated him personally, he knew everyone had been watching him, to see if he would slip up. They all clearly knew he didn’t belong.

After the greetings, had been the feast, and now was the ball, wherein everyone had the night to dance their cares away. Several tables had been set out on the upper floors, but most had been taken, and Garrett wasn’t in the mood to attempt to mingle with the Dunwall nobility.

So, here he was, sat alone at a table outside, stretching out the ache in his leg. Sokolov had declared him fit, but it would be a few weeks before the wounds would fully heal. Add that to the almost-cracked ribs, and it was probably a feat that he’d managed to keep upright, and with a neutral expression, for so long.

(He was sure the Stone had shielded him from much worse injuries. He remembered how high the lighthouse peak had been. He should have broken more than that.)

He preferred to be outside, anyway. Here, he could almost pretend he was at home, simply preparing for a night out of not-so-petty thievery.

The City didn’t have quite the same view, though.

They’d been busy for most of the past week, he’d not had much time to dwell on his home and what might be occurring during his absence. Some part of him wondered if Basso was coping well enough. The man had never said anything of the sort, but ever since Garrett had returned after his year-long absence, Basso became nervous even if Garrett were a few _hours_ late of their meeting time. He’d calmed somewhat over the past six months, but Garrett had never been absent for more than a day or two before.

While they’d been dismantling Hiram Burrows’ (and then the Loyalists’) regimes, and hunting down the Primal Stone, Garrett hadn’t really considered if he’d missed home.

Here, in the quiet, night air on the balcony, he found he did. Dunwall was a nice enough place – it had as many shortcomings as it did strengths – but it wasn’t _home._ And while the break had been a chance to recover, Garrett was itching to get his hands into other people’s pockets again, and to get back to _work._

Corvo had noticed it, these past days. He’d not said anything, but he’d sensed the _restlessness_ inside Garrett.

And now, with the coronation over, he had nothing to stay behind for. He couldn’t stay, couldn’t exist within the Dunwall court; he was too different to the nobles that were mingling inside. Eventually the façade would crumble.

He exhaled, watching his breath mist in the cool air, shifting in his chair slightly.

A door opened behind him, the sounds of celebration inside grew louder for a moment, before they were replaced by the sound of footsteps.

“If you’re here to ask for a dance, I’m going to decline it,” Garrett said, not turning to see who it was.

“As entertaining as I’m sure that would be, I’m not going to ask you,” Corvo said, stepping up to the edge of the balcony next to him. “Have people been asking you, then?” he asked.

“Yes,” Garrett said, somewhat irritably. “Five women, and two men. The men didn’t seem to like the fact I said no.”

“I’d wondered why you came out here,” was Corvo’s reply, and Garrett shrugged.

“It was getting too crowded in there,” he said, and Corvo nodded, gazing out onto the dark waters of the river.

“I should thank you,” Corvo said, “for… not being yourself. Especially when we sprang that medal on you.”

“I’ll admit, it was a surprise,” Garrett replied, taking a moment to look at the gleaming medal that was still pinned to him. “But I think I understand why you felt you needed to do it. And if keeping my hands to myself was all it took for unlimited access to every part of the city,” he shrugged. “It was the least I could do.”

“ _That_ part was not my idea,” Corvo said, and the two shared a brief laugh, before falling silent once more.

“I don’t know what to tell Emily,” Corvo said suddenly. “About- well, about _you,_ and what happened at the Lighthouse.”

Garrett turned to look at Corvo, who was still gazing across the river, something indiscernible in his face.

“I suppose the truth is out of the question,” he said.

“For now,” Corvo replied. “She’s _ten._ Eventually I’ll tell her everything, about you, the Primal, the Outsider, but- but I want to preserve some of her innocence, at least.”

Garrett nodded to himself. He understood that.

“She’s not asked me, about what happened, on Kingsparrow” Corvo continued. “I think she realises that it’s… delicate.”

“Spare her the details,” Garrett said eventually. “Tell her what you must, but don’t lie outright. I was sent to save the city. Both our cities – _both our worlds._ When she’s older, she can have the details. But, for now, just tell her that I-“

He broke off, distantly recalling his conversation with Emily in Corvo’s room at the Hound Pits.

“Tell her that I was sent to find something, and I found it.”

“I suppose it will have to do, for now,” Corvo said.

The door opened behind them again, and both turned to see Geoff Curnow heading towards them. He carried several items under his arm.

“Thought I saw the pair of you out here,” he said. “You managed to tear yourself away from the Empress, Corvo?”

“High Overseer Durant is taking his command _very_ seriously tonight,” Corvo said. “He has no less than six guards stationed within ten feet of Emily. I thought I could allow myself to leave her for a moment.”

“So it wasn’t because Adelle White wasn’t leaving you alone?” Curnow asked, setting his items down on the table.

“A charming woman, I’m sure,” Corvo said, and Garrett snorted.

“Anyway,” Curnow said. “I thought I would bring these out.”

“Whiskey?” Corvo asked, as Curnow also produced three glasses.

“Best I could find,” Curnow confirmed, also placing a box of cigars onto the table.

“I don’t drink,” Garrett said; Curnow proceeded to pour three glasses anyway.

“You do tonight,” the man said; Garrett took the glass with a frown, before giving it a careful sniff. He took a small sip, aware of the eyes watching him.

“Still fishy,” he muttered, setting the glass down. Corvo chuckled, picking up his own glass.

“To Lady Emily,” Curnow said, raising his glass; Corvo joined him and Garrett found himself picking up his own again to join in. “May her reign be long and peaceful.”

They were silent for a moment, as Curnow took a cigar and lit it; Garrett wrinkled his nose slightly at the smell, but it wasn’t the most repugnant of odours he’d experienced recently.

“So,” Curnow said, “this “Taffer City” of yours. Where is that, exactly?”

Garrett barely repressed the snort of laughter that rose in his chest.

“You never did tell me what that word meant,” Corvo said.

“I honestly don’t have a good answer,” Garrett replied. “It did seem funny, at the time.”

“Captain Curnow is more well-travelled than most others here,” Corvo explained. “He came with me when we went to the rest of the Isles. There was no Taffer City on the tour.”

“It also helps when you were the one to witness the man fall from the sky, at your feet,” Curnow said, puffing on his cigar.

“That too,” Corvo said.

“Strange events do seem to take place in Holger Square, lately,” Curnow said. “It strikes me that, without intervention from the Masked Felons, I probably wouldn’t have left the place alive the night Campbell was cast out.”

Corvo stiffened slightly under Curnow’s piercing gaze, lowered his glass to the balustrade beneath him.

“Apparently the wine was poisoned,” he said, slowly. Curnow nodded.

“A shame,” he said eventually. “It was a good thing the Masked Felons were there to save me, then.”

“I’m sure it was the least they could do,” Corvo said.

Garrett raised an eyebrow. “Are you two going to dance around your words all night?” he asked. “Because we all know that Curnow here isn’t going to be the only one asking about the identity of the Masked Felons.”

“I’ll say it simply, then,” Curnow said, turning a slightly amused gaze onto Garrett. “Thank you for saving my life. But just because _your_ mission is over, Corvo, does not mean the Masked Felon’s mission has to be. In fact, it might be prudent if he _was_ to be spotted again.”

“A feint,” Garrett said, realising Curnow’s intent. “People will clearly start to associate Corvo with the Masked Felon, but if he continues to act after order has been restored… they might be left more uncertain. And truly, nobody actually knows that it was the _Masked Felon_ who travelled to Kingsparrow. They all know it was you and me.”

“I’m sure you’ll be able to find things for the Masked Felon to do,” Curnow added. “It’s not like this city is going to immediately fix itself after tonight, and the guard cannot be everywhere at once.”

“And what of the _other_ felon?” Corvo asked. Garrett shrugged.

“I’ll be leaving soon,” he said. “It won’t matter about me.”

“A shame,” Curnow said. “From what I hear, you can really liven up events like these. Was it true that you smashed a plate of jelly over an Overseer in Lady Boyle’s mansion?”

“It seemed like a good idea, at the time,” Garrett replied. “In any case, Curnow’s plan makes sense. Especially if you want to restore order further. Topple a few corrupt nobles that the more… _legal_ means can’t reach, and, well. People will start seeing you as separate entities.”

“And then what?”

“And then you fade away,” Garrett said. “Until you’re only a story. We all become stories, in the end. The Masked Felon will probably be a great one.”

“There were two of them,” Corvo said, apparently somewhat hung up on the fact that Garrett wasn’t including himself in the grand plan to exonorate Corvo’s involvement with the Masked Felon’s activities. Garrett flapped a hand at him, idly picking up on of the cigars and examining it.

“I’m too different from you people, here. You can’t cover up my identity easily. And I have my own legend, back home,” he said. “The legend that’s growing about me here is frankly, too high-profile, and ridiculous. Did you know that several nobles here think I’m actually an automaton conceived by Piero? And that _this-“_ he gestured to his eye “- is actually the whale oil that powers me?”

Corvo choked on his whiskey, attempting to muffle his snort of laughter.

It had actually taken Garrett a while to figure out that one. It hadn’t helped when he’d found several nobles squinting at the back of his head, as if they were going to see some circuitry panel there, and the problem had been expounded further when a few had been bold enough to try and peer under his cloak for said circuitry.

Maybe he’d had more than one reason to escape to the balcony, but it really took the cake when someone asked him if he drank the whale oil he was supposedly powered by.

“I’ll have to remember that one,” Curnow said.

“Please don’t,” Garrett muttered, replacing the cigar back into the box.

“So, what is it you do, exactly?” Curnow asked. “Wherever you’re from.”

“Steal riches from entitled nobles and watch officers,” Garrett said simply, turning his gaze onto Curnow. He found himself subject to an appraising stare, before the man nodded to himself, as if confirming a suspicion he’d held.

“It’s strange,” Corvo said. “In any other time, or situation, we probably wouldn’t be friends.”

“Well, you do belong to the social caste that hates people like me,” Garrett reasoned. Corvo’s small smile at his lack of objection over the word “friend” didn’t escape his notice.

Garrett wasn’t prone to making friends. He wasn’t sure if anybody back home could be counted among such a group. Acquaintances, yes. Friendship wasn’t something Garrett gave or even easily recognised; Corvo’s easy use of the word was somewhat disconcerting as it was… comforting, he supposed.

“Speaking of mingling in social castes that dislike me,” Garrett said, rising from his chair and stretching out his limbs, “there was something I intended to do today, but your parading me in front of the crowd hindered it.”

“Well, colour me intrigued,” Curnow said, downing the last of his whiskey and stubbing out his cigar; Corvo followed suit with his own drink.

“Are we going to find out what it is?” he asked, as Garrett made his way to the balcony door.

“You’ll see,” Garrett told him. “I wanted to do it before the Outsider decided it was time for me to leave.”

Upon mentioning the Outsider’s name, Garrett heard Curnow slow behind them, a muttered curse rising on his lips. He supposed that _suspecting_ something was rather different to confirming it. The man recovered well, anyway, and was soon following them as Garrett led them down to the stairs and towards the throne, where Emily sat, surrounded by onlookers and guards.

“Lady Emily,” he began, very aware of the small crowd watching him; Sokolov was among them. He wasn’t prone to formality, but he’d observed it enough times to know well enough what to do and how to speak. “Forgive me for not being here before,” he said, slowly.

“That’s okay,” Emily smiled. “Corvo told me you don’t like parties much.”

Well, that was nice of Corvo, Garrett supposed.

“Be that as it may,” he said, struggling to find adequate words, “I didn’t want to come without bringing you a gift of some sort.”

“It’s a coronation, not a birthday party,” Sokolov’s voice rang loudly above the mumbles of those around; harsh, jibing. Garrett could feel the withering glare Corvo sent in the man’s direction.

Garrett knew better than to rise to his words, but it didn’t mean they didn’t sting. He briefly looked down, twisting his hands together, wondering if he’d gotten protocol extremely wrong and was about to ruin what had been a good day, for once. Even with all the parading.

“Tradition,” he pressed on, ignoring the burn of heat in his cheeks, “in my city is that the reigning baron is presented with gifts from the nobility upon their succession. Granted, Dunwall is not my home, but I suppose this can be taken as a token of thanks for… welcoming me to your city, I suppose.”

He was in very deep political water here, dredging up memories of nobles he’d observed back home, and partially just winging it and hoping what he was saying was right.

He reached into one of his pockets, pulling out a small bundle of fabric. He’d acquired the materials from Callista upon finding out that he was to attend to coronation and had spent the past two nights working on it. He passed the item forward, into Emily’s outstretched hand, before stepping back and looking down.

“A scarf?” she asked, unfolding the navy blue fabric, revealing the golden thread he’d embroidered into it. Callista had chosen the colours for him, and he had to admit that the gold did show up rather well against the blue, twisting tendrils of thread that gleamed in the light of the chandeliers above.

“Yes,” he said, glad she’d recognised it. “If I-“

He stepped forward, aware of several guards now watching him, before unfolding the fabric and looping it around Emily’s neck.

“It’s a little big,” he confessed, stepping back, “but I thought it would be better for you to grow into it. Think of it as the first step into getting better clothing for hide-and-seek.”

“It’s beautiful,” she said, twisting at the end of the fabric, before looking up at Garrett. “Did you make it?”

Garrett nodded, and then suddenly found himself the recipient of a rather exuberant hug.

“I love it!” Emily exclaimed. “Thank you so much, Garrett!”

“It was my pleasure,” he said, somewhat awkwardly patting her on the back, but finding that, for once, his words were true.

* * *

 

The Void was a place of inescapable lonliness and otherness, but also one of _familiarity._ Garrett had only visited it once before (and Corvo had only one visit above his), but there was something about the place that reminded Garrett of places he’d both been to and not been to. It was the scent of the oil that greased the Clock Tower’s mechanism, it was the feeling of the fog that prickled his skin on the cold nights that would soon transcend to dawn, it was the taste of static from the electrical lights that surmounted the Keep and burned at the back of his throat. Yet, it was also the whalesong of the creatures that lived in the deepest oceans, it was the feeling of _closeness_ only recognised when stood in the deepest parts of a forest, surrounded by the tallest pines, and it was the taste of a fine Serkonan brandy – things he shouldn’t have known, but somehow did.

It was a place both old and new, both eternal and instant, memorable and forgettable. To use a single word to describe it was useless; you could use every word in existence and not come close. It was, simply, _void._

“I knew it would be soon,” Corvo said, next to him. They were not inside the shell of his Clock Tower, nor the ruins of Northcrest Manor, but at the peak of Kingsparrow Lighthouse. Stood upon the catwalk, they were not looking upon the rest of the island, but a vast _city_ of bright lights and dark buildings, all frozen in a moment of stillness. It was Garrett’s city, his _home,_ he could see the Keep, the docks, _everything._

Garrett didn’t speak for a moment, instead looking out across the city, before back up at the lighthouse peak.

“I thought it would be, too,” he replied.

“We can always sense when the end is coming, can’t we?” a voice from nearby said; the pair turned to see the Outsider, hovering above the edge of the perilous catwalk.

“And so ends the interregnum,” the Outsider began, “Emily Kaldwin the First takes her mother’s throne after a season of turmoil. Stood at her side, Corvo, the Lord Protector, and Garrett, thief-turned-saviour. Truly, you have both surprised me in this past week.”

He grinned, teeth bright white and impossibly sharp, contrasting with the jet-black of his eyes.

“I trust you enjoyed the coronation?” he asked. Garrett sighed inwardly.

“I knew that was the reason behind why you didn’t bring me here as soon as I had gotten to the stone,” he said.

“It may have been more for your benefit than you would care to admit, Garrett,” was the reply; Garrett frowned. “Or perhaps I did not want to break a little girl’s heart.”

“Where is the stone now?” Corvo asked.

“Soon, it will be returned to its home,” the Outsider responded, raising his right hand. “For now, it is in a suitable container.”

In his hand appeared an object, a small statuette of a whale, with a pair of gleaming, gemstoned eyes. One of the eyes, Garrett saw, was slightly more luminous than the other.

“Fitting, I suppose,” Garrett said, recognising the statue as the one he’d liberated from the art dealer with the rather questionable taste. “Will it need to be replaced with the whole?” he asked.

“Proximity to the whole will be fine,” the Outsider replied, as the statue faded into nothingness. “It should be enough that it remains in your city where it belongs.”

Garrett nodded, partly to himself. After the fall of Orion, he’d been left with the whole Primal stone and no idea of where to put it, and so he’d decided to put it in a place nobody but him could reach: the peak of the Clock Tower. He supposed it was fitting, in the end; it could watch over the city from the highest point, and Garrett found comfort in knowing exactly where the Stone was, and that only one person could get it.

“Well, I won’t expect a thank you,” Garrett said; Corvo’s composure broke for a moment, as did the Outsider’s, into something irritated and harsh.

“ _You_ should be thankful that more damage was not caused. What happened to Kingsparrow Island could have been the start of something much worse for you and for Corvo. My thanks are not of import; I would have endured for far longer than any of you.”

Garrett smirked; he knew a lie when he saw one, even when it came from a deity. The Outsider had only called upon him in the first place because he was worried. Whatever the Primal could have done, the question of the Outsider’s ability to endure the resulting storm was very much in question.

“Be that as it may,” the Outsider continued, folding his arms. “You did well. You even saved an empire in the process.”

“I think the credit goes to Corvo for that one,” Garrett replied. “He was the one you chose, after all.”

“Indeed,” the Outsider replied. “To prevent it from falling into the abyss was truly an achievement, Corvo. You watched and listened, when others would have shouted and raged; you held back, instead of striking. And so it is, ending with Emily’s ascension; the dark times are already fading to memory.”

“Will it _stay_ a memory, though?” Corvo asked.

“You ask whether your decisions have repercussions. Whether your choices were right,” the Outsider apparently saw through Corvo immediately, saw the guilt that still resided within him; over the Pendletons, Esma Boyle, the Loyalists. “But that is not one I will answer.”

Corvo didn’t reply, nodded to himself, something unreadable in his face.

“A question I _cannot_ answer,” the Outsider said, emphasising the word, “is one you both have but will not speak.”

The Outsider turned, briefly gazed at the façade of the city before them.

“I see many things within this domain. I can see pasts, futures, things that will never be and things that will almost certainly be. But I cannot see _all._ I cannot see if this is the end for you both. I cannot say that you will never meet again. The world may still have a way of surprising me.”

Garrett wasn’t sure how he was supposed to respond to that. It was _comforting,_ though. He would never admit it, but he was almost _sad_ to leave Corvo behind. The friendship he’d found in Dunwall had been unexpected, but not unwelcome.

But he didn’t belong in Dunwall. Didn’t belong in the court intrigues and the machinations of the nobles. He belonged in the shaodows, on the cities rooftops and in its underbelly. He belonged in his _home._

“I suppose, then,” Corvo said, “that this is goodbye.”

He stepped forward, towards Garrett holding out a hand. Garrett took it, and then suddenly found himself enveloped in a hug; Corvo’s large frame _engulfed_ him. To find himself hugging back was even more of a surprise, but he supposed he could allow it for a friend.

“Thank you,” Corvo said, drawing back. “For everything. Not just what you were sent here to do,” he added, waving a hand at the rather-amused Outsider loitering above them. “But for saving Emily, too. For saving _me_ in the Flooded District. And-“ he broke off suddenly. “For being there, I suppose. It could have been an entirely different outcome, if I had been alone.”

“I’m sure you would have found a way,” Garrett mumbled in reply, somewhat embarrassed by the praise being heaped upon him. He looked down, briefly; the medal given to him at the coronation gleamed in his periphery.

“I should thank you, too,” he said, looking up. “For… putting up with me. I can be difficult, I know.”

“That’s definitely one way of putting it,” Corvo said, a grin appearing on his face.

“You’re not supposed to agree, you know,” Garrett replied, slightly affronted, but there was humor in his tone.

He couldn’t really find anything to say, anymore. He’d always been brief when it came to words, but now he simply couldn’t _find_ the right words to say. Some part of him was worried he’d say too much, or show an emotion he’d rather not.

So, instead, he turned to the Outsider.

“How does this work, then?” he asked. “Are you going to do what you did last time? Because I have something to say about that.”

The Outsider wasn’t a god that Garrett would consider _cruel._ Impassive, apathetic, yes, but not inherently callous. Perhaps he didn’t understand the full implications of what he’d done when first bringing Garrett to Dunwall.

“If you ever find that you need to bring me – or someone like me – through here to another place, I would revise your way of doing it. Because what _you_ did was-“ he broke off, floundering for the correct word. “ _Inhuman,”_ he settled on, noticing the corner of the Outsider’s mouth quirk ito something akin to a smile. “You made me think that Erin was there, that I’d found her, and-“

His mouth twisted itself into a hard line. He knew it wasn’t healthy to hope for Erin to return; for her to return to _him_ and pretend things were like they had been before. But somewhere, buried deep within, there was _hope_ that she would. And when he’d exited the painter’s shop in Dayport and had _heard_ her, _seen_ her, his heart had leapt, clinging to something it knew to be false.

Waking up in Holger Square had been both a relief and a disappointment.

“You _tricked_ me,” he finished, something raw and broken in his voice. He saw Corvo’s face, saw something _pitying,_ and he looked down, not wanting to bear that. He didn’t want _pity._ He wanted _better._

“I needed to get your attention,” the Outsider replied – and there was something almost _quiet_ in his voice, _something_ that wasn’t quite an apology but hinted at remorse.

“Find some other way,” Garrett said. “For _her_ sake.”

“It will not be the same,” the Outsider said, giving no outward indication as to whether he would heed Garrett’s request. “It will be easier, now the balance is restored. Think of it as-“ the Outsider broke off, gestured to the edge of the lighthouse catwalk. “Think of it as taking a leap of faith.”

Garrett was silent for a moment, eyeing the edge of the catwalk with some suspicion. Corvo reached forward, briefly pressed a hand onto his shoulder.

“It’s a good thing you’re not afraid of heights,” he said; Garrett huffed out a breath, not quite annoyed but not quite _pleased,_ either.

“It’s never simple,” he muttered, walking to the edge of the catwalk, and peering over.

“Just don’t put me in a prison,” he said eventually, looking up at the Outsider. “ _Or_ the Undercity.”

“It will be neither,” the Outsider confirmed, something akin to amusement in his jet-black eyes.

“That doesn’t fill me with confidence,” Garrett muttered in reply, but decided it was the best answer he was going to get from the bastard. Even now, he wasn’t exactly _forthcoming_ with his information.

He turned back from the catwalk, to face Corvo, who seemed as though he was having trouble hiding the emotion on his face. He offered the man a smile, raising his hand in farewell.

“Goodbye, Corvo. And good luck,” he said. “And say my goodbyes to Emily.”

There was no point in lingering any longer; they’d said their pieces and staying behind would only draw out the moment and make it _worse._ Endings, Garrett had decided, were neither good, nor bad, they just _were._ The people involved in said endings were different entirely, and his part in _this_ ending was a good one, he decided. He would leave now, while it was still so.

So, with a final, parting grin, and a crooked salute, he fell backwards off the catwalk, into the bright blue expanse of the Void, and the city, far below.

* * *

 

Part of him expected to be in Dayport again, exactly in the spot the Outsider had first plucked him from. So, to come to lying on a slightly-crumbling grave slab in the shadow of the Stonemarket Clock Tower was a surprise.

Mourningside.

A rat crawled across the stonework nearby, and he flinched, recalling the plague-infested creatures of Dunwall-

So it hadn’t been a dream. He hadn’t inhaled too much pitch and oil paint and passed out in a stupor.

“At least you’re friendly, here,” he muttered to the rat, which squeaked and scurried away into the shadows.

Garrett sat up slowly, rolling his shoulder to alleviate the ache, noticing there was a slight stiffness in his spine. How _long_ had he been here? He hoped it wasn’t a week.

“So,” a voice he recognised said, as a slight, hunched figure emerged from the darkness, “the great leviathan has chosen to return you to us.”

The Court of the Queen of Beggars was not an unfavourable place to be. It was near the Clock Tower, it was also near the Crippled Burrick, where Garrett could stop in and alleviate the fears that had likely been growing in Basso’s mind. It was certainly preferable to Dayport. The graveyard was something like a second home to Garrett, if he were honest; the smell of damp earth and the chill of the air familiar and comforting.

“The great leviathan?” he repeated, as the Queen of Beggars stepped closer, a frail hand outstretched to help him off the grave. He took it, more out of a polite respect for her position than anything else, settling his weight onto his feet, quickly examining his body to see if the Outsider had dropped him back _whole._

“The black-eyed child that inhabits the worlds between,” the Queen of Beggars said, and the realisation clicked into place.

“Why am I not surpised you know about the Outsider,” Garrett muttered, as the Queen motioned for him to follow her. Holding on to his arm for support, she led him to the ruined church, where several beggars and rats loitered, all watching him with a curious gaze.

She took her seat by the candlelit altar. A crow cawed above them, and Garrett glanced up at it, watching as it fluttered off to another recess in the courtyard.

“He does not intrude upon our realm willingly,” the Queen said, “and certainly not without reason. I can only assume that he desired you for an important task.”

“I would have thought you already knew,” Garrett said. “You always said you knew the important things that were happening.”

The Queen nodded, a smile playing about her lips; Garrett wasn’t going to get an answer from her. She definitely knew, then.

“How long has it been?” he asked, instead. “By my count it was eighteen days, but I wouldn’t put it past the- the _great leviathan_ to have kept me away longer.”

“You returned to us several hours ago,” the Queen said. “Basso came to us sixteen days ago to say he’d lost you; eighteen is the correct amount.”

Well. Having the Primal back on the right side of the Void really _did_ help with the Outsider’s precision.

“Perhaps I should go allay Basso’s fears, then,” Garrett said, rising.

The Queen rose, too, motioning to a beggar seated on a rotting pew. The beggar moved forward, holding several items in his hands, which he passed to Garrett.

“These were with you,” she said, as a bag and a leather tube were pressed into his hands. Garrett frowned – it was the same tube he’d taken to Dayport eighteen days ago, but he’d honestly not expected to see it again. The bag, he had no idea. “I am sure you will find something in there to distract Basso.”

Garrett snorted, shouldering the bag and pressing the tube under his arm.

“You have changed, again, Garrett,” the Queen called, as he turned to make his way towards the Crippled Burrick. “But perhaps this time it’s for the better.”

“Don’t get your hopes up,” he called back, stepping into well-trodden and familiar shadows once more.

* * *

 

The damn bird was making a racket, again.

Basso had owned the magpie (named “Jenivere II” for both posterity and ease) for a grand total of two months, and it was a damn sight louder than the original one. Still, she was a quick learner, and had managed to narrow down the routes to those within his contact fairly quickly. Of course, when one of said contacts was _missing,_ and had been for over two weeks now, it was a pretty fucking useless thing for the bird to remember how to fly up to the damn Clock Tower.

“Quiet,” Basso snapped, his nerves fraying already, despite the fact it was somewhat early in the night. The bird cawed again, completely ignoring him and choosing to ruffle its feathers instead.

Business had been going well, despite the minor setback of Basso’s _best asset_ having disappeared into the wind. But tonight, one of his contacts had already come up short, so he was looking for a way to placate a very angry buyer with minimal injury to himself.

He wasn’t concerned. Not one bit.

(He was very concerned.)

Because _this_ was exactly like that time a year and a half ago, where Basso and sent Garrett – and Erin – to Northcrest Manor, and regained one of them a year later. This time, he’d sent Garrett to the house of Arroja Ivanoff; an artist recently moved to Dayport and unaccustomed to the way of the City. The way being, if you were prominent, you were robbed. His works had hit the market, and his subsequent rise in popularity had been something _meteoric,_ and thus Basso was inundated with requests for an Invanoff original. Especially considering Ivanoff had been unwilling to sell his latest work.

Garrett had seemed like the best choice to retrieve it. The most expensive, when it came to his cut, but Basso had deemed it worth it, as he often did when it came to Garrett.

He’d given Garrett the benefit of the doubt when the man hadn’t returned the night after Basso had sent him to Dayport. Maybe he’d run into difficulty scouting the place out. You couldn’t rush good thieving, after all.

On the second day, he fretted, a little. And then he’d gone to the Queen of Beggars, just to see if she or her rats had heard anything. But when she’d informed him she’d not heard from Garrett, he’d started to worry.  He even sent people to scout out Ivanoff’s, and the local prisons. Nothing. Garrett had disappeared again.

It had left Basso with a twisting, nauseated feeling in his gut. Said feeling had spilled into his working life, and now he was trying to keep hold of several important jobs, and he had nobody to spare to fill them.

“Don’t suppose you know of anyone who can take this job off my hands?” he asked Jenivere, reaching out to smooth down the feathers of the bird’s head.

He was rewarded with a peck and a muffled caw, and responded in kind with several curses.

“Still a hit with the ladies, I see,” a voice from the doorway to his cellar said.

Basso did not shriek, or scream. He may have _yelped,_ but in all honesty, that was a very reasonable reaction to hearing _very suddenly_ from someone who’d been missing for eighteen days.

He span, very quickly, to the door. His ears hadn’t deceived him – Garrett was _there,_ leaning against the woodwork as if he’d only been gone eighteen hours. There was something like an amused expression on his face, but perhaps also _relieved._

“Garrett,” Basso breathed, confirming the fact he was actually here, in his cellar. The thief’s head tilted slightly, and he moved forward, pushing himself off the doorframe and walking into the room proper.

He moved with a slight limp, favouring his right side; something careful in his movements that hinted at an injury somewhere.

“Where the _fuck_ have you been?” Basso settled on, anger coming to focus now that the sheer surprise was starting to wear off. “You’ve been gone _eighteen days_ without a single word. I thought- I thought you captured, or dead, or-“

“Sorry to disappoint,” Garrett interrupted, moving past Basso to the empty table at the back of the room. “It wasn’t actually my fault.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Basso asked, as Garrett placed a bag onto the table, carefully undoing the rope that held it together.

“It means that-“ Garrett broke off as the fastenings came loose, and he peered inside the bag for a moment.

The silence stretched out between them; Jenivere cawed again, before settling down to start preening.

“If I explained it to you, we’d be here another eighteen days,” Garrett said; Basso huffed out an annoyed breath, knowing he was unlikely to get an explanation at all. “I had to take an important job, somewhere else.”

“For _who?”_ Basso asked. “ _Where?”_

Garrett didn’t reply, instead reached into the bag and pulled out an item that gleamed in the candlelight.

A _gold ingot?_

The stamp upon it was one he didn’t recognise, round, with a four-digit number embossed upon it and the words _MINTED UNDER REGENCY AUTHORITY._ Still, if it was real gold, it was quite a find indeed. A pile of coins followed it, once more stamped with a mint mark he didn’t recognise, but he found it beyond himself to care – gold could very easily be melted down.

A cameo of some sort was next, Garrett frowned at it for a moment, running his fingers over it, before he placed it upon the table.

“Whalebone,” he said, as if it made perfect sense to him, before rummaging through the bag again and depositing an ornate pen next to the cameo. Basso frowned, wondering where he’d manage to procure these items, while also wondering how much he’d be able to sell them for.

A small statuette followed it; a creature Basso had never seen in real life but had heard of and seen paintings of. It looked like a whale, although he couldn’t recall whales having strange, fin-like appendages. The statue’s eyes looked as though they were made of a gemstone of some sort, although one of them glowed a brighter blue than the other.

“That’s not for sale,” Garrett said suddenly, snatching the statue and stowing it into a pocket. Basso raised an eyebrow, but found he couldn’t really object, not with the sheer amount of literal _gold_ Garrett was giving to him.

A piece of paper was also placed onto the table; it was folded, but Basso caught glimpse of a drawing of some sort, although it looked something more like a child would produce than a certain artist from Dayport.

“What about that?” he asked, nodding to a gleaming medal pinned to Garrett’s chest. “Decided you liked the look of it on you, did you?”

Garrett looked down, and something on his face _changed,_ like he was only now remembering the medal was there. There was also something unreadable there, a mixture of pride and _accomplishment;_ his hand reached up to hold the medal in the light.

“This was given to me,” Garrett said, almost as if he were realising it for the first time. Basso snorted, and the _look_ Garrett gave him made the laughter die before it had a chance to fully break out.

“All right, keep the medal,” he said instead, before his interest was _really_ piqued: Garrett passed a tube over to him. A tube that could only contain one thing.

“So you actually _did_ get the Ivanoff,” he grumbled, finding his previous anger subsiding further, as he popped the lid off the tube to unfurl the painting.

“Apparently,” Garrett replied – whatever _that_ meant. Basso chose to ignore it, instead rolling out the painting and holding it up to the light.

“Garrett,” he said slowly. “What the _fuck_ is this?”

It was not the work of Arroja Ivanoff. Basso had no idea who painted this, had no idea what it even _was._

In basic terms, it was the figure of a man; a young man, suspended over a sea of blue and purple paint. He wore a brown coat, had his hands outstretched, and there were hints of _words_ painted around him, black markings that Basso couldn’t make sense of. Most striking was the face – or lack thereof. Instead was an abstract blur that hinted at humanity but also promised _something else._

It definitely wasn’t an Ivanoff.

Garrett looked up, frowned, before coming to stand behind Basso to look at the painting.

And then, he _laughed._ Not a quiet chuckle or a huff of breath, but a full _laugh_ like nothing Basso had ever heard before.

“You _bastard,”_ the thief said, leaning forward to rest his hands on his knees, almost breathless with laughter. “You conniving, black-eyed, sack of crap _bastard.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy crap. It's done.  
> 292 pages, 132798 words. 2 years, 4 months (approx.) of work. This is the longest thing I have ever written. (Words spellcheck gave up around the 169 page mark, haha. Split your fics up, guys!).
> 
> I've been planning that scarf thing ever since I saw the Dishonored 2 trailer a year ago. It's so good to finally have it written.  
> The painting described at the end is, of course, the Sokolov painting of the Outsider.  
> Aloysius Durant is technically an OC of Taffer's; a Hammerite OC that she kindly let me borrow the name of for our new High Overseer.
> 
> Speaking of Taffer, this story would literally be nothing without them. Please go send them some love at sneaky-taffer.tumblr.com
> 
> I honestly don't know what to say here.  
> Thank you, to EVERYONE, for your encouragement, your continued readership (especially through the long waits!) and for being the greatest people I could possibly know. It's you people who kept me writing, in the end.
> 
> And I'm very pleased to say - it will not end here! You may notice by the time you come to read this, that there is now a series marker. I can confirm that, yes, there will be a sequel, and it's name will be "Corvus Corone". I can also tell you it will not be set during the events of Dishonored 2, and it was long in development before I saw anything regarding the plot of Dishonored 2.
> 
> And... that's it?
> 
> You can find me at wardens-oath.tumblr.com; I'm also on twitter @caketinthehobo, if you want to ask me questions regarding this, Corvus Corone, or anything at all! (For instance, I've recently been wondering how different this story would be under High Chaos).
> 
> Okay.  
> Farewell, friends. Thank you for making this a great 2 years.


End file.
